


Broken Clocks (Just Burning Daylight)

by bathandbodyworks



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Juvie, M/M, Referenced past abuse, dick gets adopted last
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-02 13:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bathandbodyworks/pseuds/bathandbodyworks
Summary: Dick’s been on his own for a while. His parents are gone, and he’s been in and out of juvie for years. But now?Turns out some weird rich guy with a bunch of kids wants to adopt him.





	1. Broken Clocks

**Author's Note:**

> Just so y’all know, in this au, Dick gets adopted later than everybody else. The order of ages are still the same, Dick is just adopted last. He’s also a bit more timid than in canon. Feel free to leave comments (constructive, idea, whatever)! Also, if you see \\\\\\\ above words, that indicates a flashback is occurring.

Dick laid on the much-too-large bed in the much-too-large house in his a little-too-large clothes. He rolled over, trying to find a more comfortable position. He hissed as he rolled to his back for a split second, feeling the healing welts on his back ache in pain. 

Well, looked like those would be staying around a bit longer. Dick sighed and stood up, not quite sure what to do with himself.

What did one even do after a billionaire they attempted to pick-pocket had decided to foster them?

Dick honestly wasn’t even sure what to do. 

The family seemed okay, but he couldn’t hope for the family to be much different than anyone else who had fostered him in the past. He’d stay with them for a few weeks, they’d either turn out to be decent people or absolutely horrid, and then they’d throw him back into the cell in Juvie he seemed to spend his time in.

He hadn’t had the best life, if he was being honest. His parents had died when he was nine, and he’d been thrown into foster care for the last 6 years.

He’d been tossed between homes and Juvie, never really sure which one he liked better, except in very distinct cases. He could still remember the way his hands fel-

Okay, he needed to stop going down that path. His brand new, very rich, and probably very mentally stable family didn’t need him having a mental breakdown his first week with them. 

Dick walked over to the door to the bedroom that was supposed to be his and hesitantly reached towards the door handle. He twisted the brass knob down and pushed the door out towards the hallway. 

He could either walk down towards the kitchen or maybe watch some TV. There definitely had to be a lot of TV’s in the house, so he figured he had a lesser chance of running into one of Bruce Wayne’s many children if tried to find a TV. Ok, TV it was. 

He debated turning left or right. He strained his ears and heard a bit of noise coming from the right. That meant children were that way. He never had good luck with other children, much less when they were in the same house as his foster parents. He turned left and went on a search for some television, hoping it wasn’t against any rules that could get him punished. 

—————————-  
It wasn’t to say that Jason didn’t like his younger siblings, it’s just that, ya know, they were kind of annoying. So when Bruce had called Alfred to let him know that he had met a young boy who desperately needed their help and would fit very well into the family, Jason wasn’t super excited. He didn’t really need another whiny, snot-nosed brat running around the manor.

But what Bruce had neglected to let Alfred or Jason know, was that this brat wasn’t really a brat.

Jason was pretty damn surprised when the kid that walked through the door to the garage was some teenager, older than him! 

The boy had dark black hair, thick, full and messy, that was a little longer than most boys wore it. His hair seemed to shine almost blue in the light of the chandelier. His skin was a deeper and darker color than anyone Jason currently lived with, and he seemed to be a hell of a lot worse for wear than any of them, too. 

Jason could see a bruise attempting to heal where his long sleeve shirt cut off, but the ugly green and purple stood out against his skin, and Jason couldn’t tell if the boy was pulling his shirt down to cover the bruise or because he was nervous.

A finger on the boy’s right arm was twisted all weird, obvious that the boy had at one time, broken it, and not been able to let it heal properly, or really, at all. The boy was skinny in a way that screamed malnourishment and his mannerisms made it obvious that the boy was shy and nervous. 

But what most stood out to Jason was his eyes, a brilliant blue that seemed to shine brighter than the sea.

But it wasn’t quite the color that captured Jason’s attention. 

Rather, it was more the depth and defeat in them that Jason really noticed. Jason had seen that look before. Before that dude across the hallway of his old apartment had banged his fists against the corridor in anger. Right before the gas station owner had begun to cry after someone had whispered something in his ear and Jason had been ushered out of the store. Right before his mom had OD’d one cold night when he was eight. 

Jason wasn’t sure if he trusted this kid. 

The kid started to inch back towards the garage, obviously a little unsure of what to do. Bruce placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and he subtlety flinched. Not the best sign in Jason’s mind.

The hard look in Bruce’s eyes made it evident he had noticed. Bruce began to talk anyways. 

“Jason, Tim. This is Richard. He’ll be staying with us for a little while.”

The boy, Richard, made a hesitant nod and bit his lip. This kid seriously had some self-esteem issues.

“I trust you will make him feel comfortable here,” Bruce continued. “Richard, in the kitchen to the left is the butler of the house, Alfred. He has some things to discuss with you. If you could go over there, he would really appreciate it.” 

Richard nodded and walked towards the kitchen, careful to keep his eyes on Jason and Tim. Jason had no clue what Bruce was thinking, bringing a kid like this home. He seemed to really need some help, and Jason sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to give it to him. 

He looked up as Bruce walked over. “What the hell, Bruce? You just call and tell us you’re bringing a kid over and then bring over some dude older than me? A heads up would be nice, old man,” Jason said, anger clearly showing. 

“Jason, I’ve been prepping this for a few days. Richard needs help, and he wasn’t getting it. I’m only trying to help him,” Bruce said with a small frown. 

“Yeah, but, seriously? I mean, I’m probably like the last person to talk about this, but did you really need another kid? Was three really not enough?”

Bruce looked down on Jason with a small glare, a bit of disappointment in his eyes. 

Finally, Tim spoke up. “Jason, he seems nice enough? I mean, we should give him a try. If he’s really mean then Bruce did say he was just staying around for a little while.”

Jason looked down at his little brother, who was definitely too smart for his own good. Jason sighed. “Fine. I’ll try to help this kid Robert or whatever have a good time and all that shi- stuff.” Jason gave out an awkward laugh. “I meant stuff, I swear.”

Bruce patted Jason’s shoulder and gave a small smile once again. “Thank you,” he said. 

Jason just smiled. He seemed to be in for a bumpy ride.  
—————————-

Dick found a room with a TV after taking a couple more left turns. The TV was, simply put, huge. Dick didn’t think he’d ever seen a TV that big. How did someone possibly get that much money to get a TV like that?

It had taken him months to save up enough money to get a sweatshirt he had wanted, and he’d gotten it just before that family had sent him back to Juvie for being ‘a danger to the other children in the household’ because yeah, he had punched the kid after the dude been pushing him around for a couple of months.

Dick struggled to figure out which remote to use, and eventually just walked over to the television and pressed buttons until the television turned on, careful to make sure that no one was around to see him messing something. 

After a couple of minutes of fiddling around, Dick finally found a soap opera that seemed interesting enough. 

Dick walked over to the couch, careful not to ruin the couch or the perfectly laid out pillows. He pulled his knees to his chest and focused on the television, watching two women sob over their love lifes.

Right now, Dick really wished those were the kind of problems he was having.

He was so focused on the soap opera that he didn’t even notice that Jason had walked into the room until he had tapped on his shoulder from behind the couch. Dick jumped up on instinct and almost rolled off the couch, his heart racing.

“Dude, calm down. It’s just me,” Jason said with an awkward laugh.

On the other hand, Dick was not as calm. Couldn’t people just, not touch him announced? He’d been through too much crap in his life to not let a stray hand scare him. “Um, yeah, uh sorry about that. I, uh, I-I didn’t mean to uh, you know, uh,” Dick muttered with a confused look on his face.

“It’s cool. Bruce wanted me to bond with you or some shit like that, so here I am. I get what you’re going through, dude.”

Dick really wanted to laugh at that. Who actually understood what he had been through? But his heart was racing and his head was pounding and he didn’t know what to do his hands were so sweaty and his eyes felt heavy and warm and he couldn’t feel his legs and he was kind of dizzy was it hot in here and-

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

He’s 10. He’s been in this home for 2 weeks. The woman is mean. Dick knows he’s smart, not in that book smart way, not anymore, but in that street smart way that gets you through life. He’s smart enough to know that the only reason the woman took him in was to get money from the government. She hasn’t fed him today, and he’s hungry. He tries to fall asleep on the couch in the living room of her tiny apartment, his stomach growling. 

He can’t do it.

He quietly walks to the kitchen. Through a window, he can tell it must be almost midnight. He thinks Ms. Porte is asleep, so he might be able to grab some of the grapes he knows are in a drawer in the fridge. He opens the fridge, wincing at the groan the dilapted, old fridge makes. He grabs the grapes and quickly shuts the fridge. He hears the slam the fridge makes and closes his eyes. He doesn’t hear anything. Did she not wake up? Thank goodness!

Dick takes his prized grapes back to the living room and onto the couch. He carefully places one in his mouth. They’re delicious . He continues to sit and eat, a little fear stuck in the back of his mind. Eventually, he falls asleep, grapes on his lap. 

Eventually, he realizes he’s made a mistake. 

Dick wakes to a hand on his shoulder, wrenching him off the couch. He’s not awake enough to process the shrieking her shrill voice makes. He is awake enough to notice her drag him through her bedroom, into the closet.

He’s scared.

He’s crying. 

He doesn’t know what’s going on.

He wants his parents. His cold, cold, cold, dead parents.

The woman fumbles around, a tight grip on his arm he knows is going to leave crescent marks and finger-shaped bruises. Finally, she reaches what she must have been looking for, and Dick only cries harder.

The metal of the belt is hard to see in the dim light, and it only means that it’ll be harder to see when it’s coming. 

“Please, please, please don’t hit me,” he sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I won’t take food anymore I swear I’m so sorry please please I didn’t mean to I-”

Dick’s cut off with the feel of the woman shoving him over her knee, tearing down his shorts, and roughly adjusting him. 

“Stupid little boy! I take you in, a stupid, spoiled gypsy, like you, and this is how you repay me!” Dick doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sound of her shrill voice. 

“I-I’m sorry! I-I-I’m so-sorry! I won’t- won’t do it again! I- I can’t, I can’t-”

His sobbing is so loud by now he can barely hear her response. 

“Damn right you won’t,” she snickers. And now Dick only feels pain, racing through his veins, lighting up his back in a way few things do, making him twist and groan and cry all at once, as she lifts up his shirt with her cold, cold, cold, dead fingers and strikes him again, and again, and again, and doesn’t stop till Dick’s far into unconsciousness. 

He’s back in juvie by the end of the week.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ 

Dick was leaning against the wall, Jason shaking him. “Richard! Richard, come on! Hey, snap out of it. Stop!” Dick couldn’t seem to focus on what Jason was saying. He was there again, in a house he tried to put out of his mind, and god he couldn’t go through this again. 

Finally, Dick remembered where he was and what was going on. He struggled to stand, and heard Jason’s voice tell him to sit down and that he’ll go get Bruce. Dick can’t let that happen. Nothing bad had happened in this house yet, and he can’t get sent back to Juvie. He can’t do it. 

Dick shakily stood on his wobbly and too cold legs and forced himself back to the room he was in earlier. This stupid, normal family is something he needs, and he can’t let his past or his damn panic attacks ruin that. 

Dick flopped onto the bed, burying his head in a perfectly ironed pillow, with the constant feeling of tears threatening to flow behind his eyes. 

He’s a little happier, at the end of the night, when Jason opens his door, walks into the room, and leans against his wall. He heard one of the other kids, Tim, run by, and stop outside the door earlier in the night, but that kid never came in. 

At least, for right now, he isn’t completely alone.

 

—————————-

To put it lightly, Dick was nervous. 

His first week in the family had been okay, after the initial panic attack. They ate breakfast every morning at exactly 7:30, dinner at exactly 6, and Bruce always asked Dick how his day went. He hadn’t left the house, but it was okay. Yes, he liked the house. No, he didn’t need any more blankets. Yes, he was enjoying his time. 

He really didn’t need another dad. Yet, Dick was still nervous as to what the future held.

How long did this family plan to keep him around? Did he have to go to school? Where they going to take him out? He couldn’t help but wait for the other ball to drop, revealing a darker, deeper, and dirtier side to the Wayne family. 

It was at a dinner that Bruce finally brought up one of Dick’s concerns. 

“How was your day at school, Jason?”

“Pretty good actually, for once,” Jason said with a smile. “Ya know Ms. Rethmen, that lady with the weird hair? Yeah, apparently she’s got some sorta vendetta against those of us who like classic lit. Who the hell gave her that right?”

Jason paused before continuing. “You know Johnny just sat in the back the whole time, smiling that weird ass- I mean sort of- that’s definitely what I meant! But whatever nobody really likes him anyways-“

Dick honestly felt like he could sit and listen to Jason talk for forever. And apparently so could Tim. He looked across the table to see Tim hesitantly smile at him.

He smiled back. Tim blushed. The little nine year was, frankly, adorable.

“So Richard.”

That cut Dick out of his thoughts. He looked up at Bruce, his bangs blocking some of his vision. “How would you feel about starting at Gotham Prep on Monday? The district could easily send a man out here to determine what grade you would be in.”

Dick really didn’t know what to say. Did he say Gotham Prep? He’d heard stories about Gotham Prep. 

No, not stories. 

Legends.

Water fountains made of a beautiful marble that shined in the light, where the water didn’t taste like someone had just dumped a bunch of trash in it. 

A gymnasium bigger than the one the Gotham Knights played in, easily fitting thousands of people. Teachers with actual degrees, that got students into Harvard before they had even taken the SATs. 

He could go to a school like that? Dick knew the hidden meaning behind it, though. He was staying long enough to go to school? 

“I mean, I guess I could? I- I’m not really sure,” he said, trying to fight the growing heat creeping up his neck. “I just, haven’t, uh, been to a school in a while so I’m not really sure.” Dick shrugged his shoulders and looked up. 

Bruce nodded. 

“I’ll request that someone be here tomorrow. Thank you, Richard.”

Dick only nodded, staring at his food.


	2. Normal Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Next chapter! Thank all of y’all for your support, I really appreciate it. Next chapter may take a little longer just cause I’ve got a ton of make up work from being sick, and finals coming up. Also, please feel free to leave a comment (criticism, idea, whatever).

Turning his head, Dick could see a barrage of expensive cars, all decked out in what had to be some of the nicest wheels Dick had certainly ever seen in his 15 years of life. He also noticed a distinct lack of buses.

Did rich kids really not have to ride the bus? That was basically a rite of childhood! Not that he had much opinion on what a good, stable childhood was like, though. 

Straight ahead of him, the towering brick walkway stood tall, leading the way for students onto the campus. 

From his peripheral vision, Dick could see students in dark blue blazers, just like his, huddled together. The boys wore tan pants, just like his, and he noticed girls with pants like his as well, although a few were wearing skirts. 

He looked to his right and saw Jason slowly pat him on the shoulder, his hand thankfully away from where his back was healing.

“Welcome to Gotham Prep. Don’t worry. It could be worse.” He said with a grin, like Dick didn’t know. He settled for just giving a sheepish smile. 

“Jason? Do you know where, uh, MF 12 is? I’m not really sure.”

Jason slowly began to push him forward, a gleam in his dark eyes. “Trust me, I know where everything is.”  
—————————-

Dick had been nervous to have his testing done. A couple hours of sitting there, just reading and writing? That had never really been quite his forte. Honestly, he’d probably do better at just about anything else. 

He hadn’t been to school in a while. Probably not since 7th or 8th grade. He kind of assumed that school stopped being less important at that point. Certainly less important than eating, or finding a place to sleep, or avoiding getting his finger broken again.

Dick knew that the testing was at noon, so he had a couple of hours. He didn’t think anyone else in the house was up, but he needed to check to be sure. He’d always been an early riser, and was pretty sure no one else in the manor was. 

He began to creep up the stairs, careful to avoid making the stairs creak. Years of practice of being quiet came in handy more often than one would think. 

Walk on the balls of your feet. Turn your foot inwards after every other step to relieve tension. Extend arms to maintain balance. Walk near furniture to avoid creaking. 

After straining his ears for noise, he noticed a slight noise coming from a bedroom. Whose room, though?

Dick felt a bit comfortable with Jason, and significantly less so with Mr. Wayne or Mr. Pennyworth. He hadn’t spent much time with Tim, but the wiry kid seemed pretty nice. He had noticed Tim with a camera, so the kid must have a couple of hobbies that Dick would be interested enough in to talk to him about. 

He creeped up to the door and peered through the keyhole. He could see little Tim laying on the bed, watching a video on a laptop. It was evident Tim hadn’t slept yet. Chip bags strewn about, a half drunk gatorade bottle, small eye bags under his eyes. Dick didn’t know much about kids, but he was pretty sure nine year olds were supposed to get 10 hours of sleep, or something like that. 

The kid looked nice enough, and Dick really wanted to confront him on his sleeping patterns.

Adults were usually a bit of a problem to talk to, but kids were usually okay. Besides, this one didn’t really seem like a tattle-tale. 

After a minute or two of consideration, Dick had decided it would be fine to go talk to Tim. He slowly twisted the doorknob, and pushed open the door to Tim’s room. 

—————————-

“Ok, so Richard, the MF is building is for all the ninth grade classes, besides science and electives. And the last eight rooms are for the kids that aren’t in honors. So I guess that’s why you’re there.” 

Dick just sighed and nodded his head. The testing results had come in a little less than a day after he had finished testing. Dick had done average in English, a bit below average in Writing and pretty bad in Science. His math grades were what really pushed him back to ninth grade.

He wasn’t actually bad at math, per se. He actually used to do pretty well when he was in school. It’s just that being good at math doesn’t mean you know how to write the equation of an exponential function, or find the orthocenter of a triangle.

The school board had also mentioned something about wanting to give him a full chance to get all his graduation requirements, as well as credits he could get for college. That was funny. Him? Go to college? No chance. 

So, basically, he was stuck in ninth grade with privileged kids a year younger than him. Of course, one of the kids he was living with just happened to be two years younger than him and in the same grade. To top it all off, they shared a math class. 

Oh well, it wasn’t like it was the worst thing he’d ever been through.

“Uh, homeroom just lasts like 10 minutes and starts at 8:30, and every class after that is an hour. Well, it’s more like 65 minutes, but they just say an hour cause it’s easier-” Jason said. He looked like he had more to say, but a redhead tried to wave him over. “I’ll see you in second period though.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then. Have fun with your friends.”

Jason looked a little hesitant to leave, but left anyways with a small smile on his face. It made Dick feel a bit better. He did always seem to feel better when other were happy. 

He didn’t really know what to do for the next- he looked at the watch Mr. Wayne had given him- 8 minutes. He slowly walked over to a brick bench, hands in his pockets, brand new book bag slung across his back, and sat down. He took another moment to look around.

There were plenty of people, maybe not quite as many as he had seen at some of the other schools he had attended, but definitely plenty. He glanced down at his watch again. 6 minutes. 

“Hey, you new here?”

Dick looked up. He didn’t reply.

“Probably. I’m Wally. I’m kinda knew here too.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m new.”

“You know I moved here with my aunt and uncle. We used to live in Central City, but now we live here since my uncle works at the Star Labs. Why are you new here?”

Dick just kept staring. The kid was at least a year older than him, had fiery red hair, bright green eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He was pretty skinny, too. He noticed his mouth was quirked a bit down, too. He was pretty comfortable, but exploring a slightly sensitive topic. Huh. Wonder why he did that. 

“So, do you wanna, ya know, answer?” 

Dick looked down at his watch again. 4 minutes. 

He looked up again. “I’m Dick. I, uh, just moved here, I guess.” He wasn’t really sure what to say.

“Yeah, same. Cool name, I guess. My first periods Robbins, what’s yours?”

“Oh, uh, MF 12. I guess Bastian.”

Wally scuffed his feet on the pavement. “Oh, you’re in ninth grade? I just kinda assumed you were in tenth grade since you’re like, the same height as me. But, I’m not very tall either, so I guess not.”

Dick wasn’t really sure how to reply. “I’m, uh, actually only five foot four. You’re probably a bit taller than I am.” 

Wally looked as if he was about to reply, but a shril bell noise cut him off. 

“I’ll see you at lunch, ok dude? Bye!”

Wally waved, so cautiously, Dick waved back. Not bad for his first day.  
—————————-  
The door pushed open. Tim looked up at the boy. He looked a bit tired. “Oh. Hi, Richard. Whatcha doing in here?”

“Oh, I just thought I’d visit you? I haven’t really talked to you yet, so uh, yeah.” Oh, shit. This was a bad idea. Why did he even walk in here in the first place? What was he supposed to say? What was he going to talk about? Oh god, he messed it up again. It always starts with pissing off a kid, and then the parents, and then straight back to juvie.

“Uh, Richard? Are you ok? You ok there?” 

Dick smacked his head, and attempted to pass it off as a head rub. Stupid, stupid! “Yeah, I’m fine. I just came to get to know you. Little Tim, right?”

“Oh. Uh, sure. You wanna sit down?” Tim nodded his head towards the bed beside him and started to push wrappers on to the floor. Dick smiled a bit and sat down beside him. Tim looked at him, and sat up. 

“You know, you can call me Dick if you want. My, uh, people, used to call me that.” He gave an awkward laugh. He turned his head and looked at Tim. He was wiry and had dark hair, and just as dark eyes. His skin was pale, and his clothes hung loose on his body, clearly clothes meant to be worn to bed. 

“Oh. Dick? That’s a bit old,” Tim said awkwardly. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Oh, I get it! My parents named me Timothy, but everybody calls me Tim. Is it like that?” 

“Yeah. Basically the same.”

“Cool, cool! I got Fortnite season 4 on my laptop, you wanna play? Some of the schematics are a bit weird since it’s new, but it’s still pretty fun.”

Schematics? Smart kid. He’d played video games once he was younger, at a group home he’d stayed in during his early teens. Call of War? Something like that. 

“You sure? Most people like to sleep at least once a day,” Dick teased in reply. He noticed the small quirk in Tim’s lips, and the light in his eyes. He must not get teased in a brotherly way often. 

“Yeah, not me. You should see Jason, he sleeps all the time,” Tim exclaimed. “My baby brother, Damian, he’s the opposite. He never sleeps. It’s kinda annoying, honestly.”

Another brother? Dick was pretty sure that Mr. Wayne had only mentioned two kids. He liked babies. Babies were cute. 

\\\\\\\\\\\\\  
He’s just turned 13 years old. A kid at Juvie gave him a black eye yesterday, a fantastic birthday present, to be honest. One of the staff just had twins a few weeks ago, apparently. A boy and a girl. She’s brought them into work to show the other cafeteria workers. They have pretty blonde hair and pretty brown eyes just like their momma. He probably wouldn’t be here if he had pretty blonde hair and pretty brown eyes. Some people just seem to like the white kids better.

The little girl is small and all swaddled up in pink blankets in her momma’s arms. He sees them from around the corner of hallway. 

It’s early in the morning, and they probably don’t want any of the kids up. He can see the sun shine in that orange glow it always does in the morning. 

The cafeteria workers are usually pretty nice, especially compared to some of the other people who work at the center. The staff moves the baby a little, just enough where he can’t see the baby’s face anymore. He sticks his head out a little farther.

“Hey, honey. You wanna see they baby?” Is she talking to him? He feels his hands pull at his shirt, and forces them to his side. 

He nods his head and walks forward. He’s not really sure how to talk to a baby. The mom holds the baby out a bit towards him. He looks up to her, searching for confirmation. 

“Yeah, go for it, hun. Just be careful, okay?” She seems nice. Her name tag says ‘Isobel.’ He knew a girl named Isobel once.

The other women whispers something to Isobel. He can’t quite hear her. 

He puts his face in front of the little baby’s, and he can’t help but think how much like a squishy tomato the baby looks like. He puts his finger in front of the baby like they do on TV, hoping for the baby to grab onto his finger. The fingers are so chubby and cute and-

The wailing cuts him out of his thoughts. The momma quickly grabs the baby, attempting to soothe the baby. She buries the baby’s face in her shoulder, but the baby only cries harder. She’s patting the baby’s back and shushing the baby.

It’s not working.

He hears the footsteps of the people who are supposed to make sure he’s ‘safe,’ and he really wants to apologize to the baby. His stupid shiner probably scared the baby. 

The other staff lady is trying to help quiet the baby, and he still really, really wants to apologize but he also knows he needs to get the hell out of there before they find him up early and out of his cell. 

“Hey, kid! Don’t you dare move!” He freezes. Shit. He cringes and turns around. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes on the feet of the man dressed in light gray. He hates when they yell at him, but they do seem a bit nicer when he apologizes first. 

He slowly raises his head, hesitant to glance upward and meet his fate. 

He scans the face in front of him. Oh god, it’s Harold. Harold’s never liked him. Sent him to solitary more than once. Harold’s gonna be so angry. All he wanted to do was get out of bed and feel a little bit of freedom, and then just play with a cute little baby. 

Harold smirks. “It’s always you, ya little Dick. Come on, ya know the rules about being out early,” he sneers. “Get yur ass over here.”

 

He glances back at the ground. He should move. He really should. He really wants to lift his leg up just a little bit, but his brain just won’t do it. He’s always been a little bit stubborn. 

His eyes feel warm and heavy. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

Harold doesn’t seem to care, and grabs his upper arm. But he’s 13 now and he’s old enough and tough enough to fight back. 

He slaps his hand around Harold’s arm and smacks and pulls and tugs, until Harold punches him so hard across the face he see stars and a dark mass scrapes the edge of his vision, and he hears a gasp and a distant voice screaming for someone to stop and he knows his hair is being pulled and it hurts oh god it hurts and all he wanted was to get out of his cell and feel a little bit of freedom and control in his life and he barely registers the-

the feeling-

the feeling of his face against a cold, cold ground and everything about his life is cold, cold, cold, and he hears the door creak shut.

It hits him. It’s dark and he can’t see. It’s quiet and there’s nothing to listen to, except for the small radio in the room that shares a wall that the old janitor plays his 60’s tunes in. 

He bangs his fists on the door and slumps down, defeated, crying, sad. He doesn’t want to be in here, with the feeling of wet blood dripping from his split lip. But he remembers the baby, and he remembers the orange glow of the lobby, and he’s sad. 

He sits there for a couple hours, and he wonders why everything in his life is so cold, cold, cold.


	3. Garden (Say it like dat)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of y’all for your support and for waiting for this! Sorry it took so long, my brother broke both the bones in his forearm and had an adverse reaction to ketamine, so I spent a bunch of time this week at the hospital :( but thanks for waiting, and feel free to leave kudos and/or comments (criticism, idea, whatever)!

—————————-  
He didn’t end up finding Wally at lunch, but other than that, his day went pretty well for a first day of high school. It did kinda suck not having anybody to talk to, but he’d been alone for a while. 

Currently, he was sitting on the floor, his legs out in a split, his hands wrapped around the heel of his foot. 

After his parents had died, he’s tried to keep up with what they had taught him. He wouldn’t be able to find a trapeze, so flexibility was one of the only things he was able to keep from the circus. 

It did work as a pretty cool trick. 

Dick heard a loud knock on the door to the bedroom, and continued to stretch before answering. 

“Uh, yes?”

The door languidly glided forward. Jason slowly walked in, a hesitant look on his face. “Hey, Rich-“ Jason’s faced changed into one of shock, and quickly morphed into one of jealousy. “Holy shit. I thought only girls could do that.”

Dick laughed quietly. Jason quickly sat down beside him, attempting to reach his toes. 

Dick scooted over a bit, wanting to put some space between him and Jason. He changed positions a bit, and tucked his feet behind his neck. He smirked at Jason’s face. 

“Seriously, how the hell are you doing this?” 

“A lot of practice. And by a lot, I mean a lot,” Dick said with a smile. He took his feet from behind his head, and put them back into a split.

“I’m pretty sure they did something like that in Karate Kid. Ya know, during all the training with the old Asian dude?”

Dick looked down at his feet, tucking them against his side. He could feel his face getting warmer by the second. He hated the feeling of heat rushing up his neck and burning up his face. 

“Dude, it’s okay. Seriously, we own it on Amazon. I didn’t see it till I was like 10, either.” 

Yeah, but he was 15. He was 15 years old and didn’t know a thing about pop culture, or music, or celebrities. God, his life sucked. 

Jason smacked his hand against the ground, and Dick flinched. 

He looked up at Jason. Dick could tell that Jason was considering something, but he must have decided against it. 

Jason stared at his eyes for a moment before standing up. Did Jason not trust him? He hadn’t done anything to make Jason not trust him. Then again, he hadn’t really given Jason a reason to trust him. All he’d done was live in the same mansion as him for two weeks. 

“I’ll see you later. I’m gonna go help Alfie with dinner.”

Dick watched Jason leave the bedroom, before walking over to the bed. He sighed as he buried his hands in his hair. Why did he always screw things up? He just wanted to get to know the kids in the house, and now he had probably pissed one of them off. Great.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dick could’ve sworn he saw something through the window. But when he looked again, there was nothing. 

—————————-  
Dick begrudgingly walked toward his 3rd period class. Math had been fine, if not a bit challenging. Geometry was so confusing. Why did he need to know about triangles again? 

It did kinda suck having Jason in the same class as him. At least he never had to talk to him. Perks of sitting on opposite sides of the room. And having different last names. 

Didn’t mean he didn’t hear the whispers, though. 

His book bag hung heavy on his back, a constant reminder of the new life he was in. Being rich was pretty cool, although he knew he didn’t fit in 100%.

Most of the kids at Gotham Prep walked with a sense of elegance. With purpose. Like they had their entire life laid out in front of them from the moment they were born. 

They had an aroma of tidiness, of a perfect life that only money could buy.

They’d been born into wealth and money, with butlers and sports cars, and mansions and tennis courts. 

The details of how he ended up with Mr. Wayne and all his money we’re still a bit blurry. 

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

He remembered not having much, with long stretches of months with the color fading from his sneakers. 

He remembered listening to the sounds of other boys shoes disappearing down the hallway, waiting to leave the room.

He remembered walking past the ginormous Wayne Enterprises building. It was towering, with shiny window panes that illuminated the streets below. 

He remembered one of the staff at the center telling him and the other boys to shower, because they were attending a big event for some more cash.

He remembered stumbling around, his hair wet and his towel too small. 

He remembered how they had fitted him in a dark, long sleeve turtleneck, with dark pants that were a slightly different color than the dark shoes they gave him to wear. 

He remembered wondering why the pants were a different color than the shoes. 

He remembered driving in a cold, cold, cold van that made him shiver and raised rows of scaly goosebumps on his skin. 

He remembered walking into a ginormous, glittering room full of people that wore their money like he wore shame. 

He remembered seeing a tall, pale man in a tall, dark suit. He could see the watch that hung a little too loosely from his wrist, the way the diamonds on the inside sparkled as if they were a glass of champagne. 

He remembered how he knew that the watch could be taken apart, piece by piece, so that he could avoid the police that always seemed to hate boys like him. 

He remembered he saw him with a woman, tall and blonde and with a lipstick smudge, hanging around his arm. 

He remembered how distracted the man looked, probably drunk on liquor and high on life, or maybe even something a bit stronger. 

He remembered being explicitly told, don’t talk to anyone unless they talk to you first. Don’t touch anyone. Don’t ask anyone questions. 

He remembered how he really didn’t want to get the beating of his life. But he was 15 years old, just a few short years away from being too old for the system. Too old to be adopted, too young to be free.

He remembered being just a bit too broke to not grab that watch. 

He remembered breaking away from the group, the look in a waiter’s eyes that spoke only of curiousity. 

He remembered that no one from his group noticed his absence, and he didn’t know if that was hurt or relief his heart ached with. 

He remembered using his litheness to slip his frail, broken fingers around that beautiful, so very, very, expensive watch. 

He remembered how the man turned so fast when his finger twitched around the watch, the latch almost off like a quick snap of fingers. 

He remembered how the man’s eyes lacked surprise. How he seemed so damn calm, so prepared and ready. 

He remembered how his warm calloused hands wrapped around his wrist, tight enough to leave a bruise. He could see how close the man was, the man’s breath coming in hot gusts on his terrified face. 

He remembered how he wasn’t scared of the man, but of what would come after. Of what they would do to him. 

He remembered how he began to try to wrench his wrist away, and how the man wouldn’t let go, not without taking in the entirety of his helpless captive’s face. 

He remembered how the man slowly pulled him close, and whispered to him words that were more clear than anything else from that night. 

He remembered stumbling backwards, the man’s sea eyes not quite as ready. More hopeful. Surprised. As if what he said was not what he thought would spill from his lips. 

He definitely remembered getting the beating of his life. The emotional and physical scars were still clear to all who dared to look. 

But he got out. And he wasn’t going back. Whatever it took.  
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

His 3rd period teacher, Mr. Dent, hadn’t failed to creep him out every single time he entered the classroom. He was tall, taller than Mr. Wayne, with dark brown hair and solid brown eyes that never seemed certain of what their owner would do next. 

His voice was booming, and almost every choice he had made had been down to a coin flip. A coin flip with his lucky half-dollar. 

Heads for reading Romeo and Juliet. Tails for watching the movie first. Heads for writing what your fears are. Tails for writing what you wish you feared. 

It was all rather strange. But what creeped Dick out the most was the way the man leered. 

Lingering eyes hanging just a fraction of a second too long on him. Hands that touched and held on a bit too long when handing in a paper. A pat on the shoulder that no other student received. Calling him up to his desk for insignificant reasons.

Why was the man so obsessed with him?

Dick couldn’t fathom why. He was a nobody with no family, no smarts, and no physical attributes. 

What did some creepy old dude want with him?

Dick didn’t know anyone in the class, and didn’t have anyone he could trust to talk to about it. He didn’t like it when Mr. Dent’s creepily slender fingers caressed his shoulder. He didn’t like it when his eyes bore into his face, searching for more. 

He tried to go to class with his book bag in his lap, a trick he’d used in the past to have a place to hide his face. 

He tried holding his head behind his arm whenever possible. 

He tried forcing his bangs in front of his eyes, another trick pulled from his big book of ‘how to avoid eye contact.’ 

Nothing was working. The leering continued. And he dealt with it. Just like he dealt with every other crappy thing life through his way, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel and how bad his insides squirmed. 

It was during an argumentative essay about why children should or should not be exposed to television that the leering made things just a bit worse. 

“Richard, could you come up to my desk?”

Dick felt his chest beat, his heart pounding in its too small cavity. He nodded, not daring to glance in Mr. Dent’s direction, his eyes drilling holes into the tile floor. 

“I wanted to take a moment, just between you and me,” Dick shuddered at the thought, “To get to know you. I know that the new students need a bit more time to get to really know a teacher.”

Woah. Ok. Dick really didn’t need that right now. Or ever. There was no way in hell he’d willing to spend extra time with Mr. Dent. 

Mr. Dent placed his hand over Dick’s, squeezing it with just the slightest bit of anger in his eyes, and a little too much on the side of pain, before asking him to sit down. 

Dick hesitantly lowered his legs into a plush chair, the chair squeaking as he sat. He glanced behind him, taking no comfort in the fact that no one in the class was paying attention. 

“Uh- what would you like to- uh- discuss, sir?” Dick murmured, eyes down at the desk. 

“I’d just like to get to know you a bit, Richard. I hear that your brother is also attending Gotham Prep.”

He pushed his chair farther away from the table before replying. “Oh, uh, yeah. Jason. He’s nice. He goes here, I guess. We share-“

Dent cut him off with a loud, “How did you end up in Mr. Wayne’s care?” Dent’s eyes looked straight into Dick’s. Dick looked at his feet. 

“I, uh, it wasn’t great circumstances, to be honest.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “We, uh, sorta ran into each other.”

Dent smiled and nodded. It creeped Dick out. His lips had curved up in a frightening way, much like that of the Cheshire Cat. His teeth were just a tad too white to be natural, and his lips seemed to be stained a coffee brown. 

Dent reached for Dick’s hand, and he violently flinched back. He hadn’t seen it coming.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Dent. Uh, I’m really sorry, si-sir.”

Dent seemed to notice, a quirk in his lips. “Ah, no worries. Have you enjoyed your stay with Bruce, Richard?”

Was he? He could honestly say that he was enjoying his stay. No matter how temporary, it’d been a pretty good experience 

Dick felt his knee bounce, and forced it stop. “It’s been- It’s been nice, sir.”

The smile on the taller mans face was etched and burned into Dick’s eyelids. It would probably be just another thing added onto his ever-growing list of nightmares, if he was being honest. 

“How is that butler of his, Al, was it? I always remember Brucie having such a nice servant. How is he?” 

Dick hummed in agreement. “Yeah, Alfred. He’s nice, uh, very nice.”

“Mr. Wayne treats you well, I see?”

Dick smiled a bit at that, because, yeah he did. “Uh, yes sir. He does.” 

Dent didn’t look quite satisfied. “May I see your hand, Richard? Your shirt cuffs look a bit uneven. You probably know by know how strict Gotham is about dress code.”

Dick looked at his hand and inched it towards Dent. He really didn’t want to touch the man. He was a good 20 years older than him, and obviously had some clear issues. 

The hand was roughly pulled forward. Dick jerked in his seat, his breath coming in faster. He’d been yanked enough to know exactly what came after.

His sleeve was pulled up a good inch. Dent’s voice dropped several decibels when he next spoke. “I see some nice bruising there, Richard. It looks a couple of weeks old. I can’t imagine how you would have gotten this.”

Dick breathed harder, and felt the stares of the other students on the back of his head. 

“Oh, I’m-uh, not sure what you’re- you’re talking about.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t. That finger looks nice. What happened there, Richard? I can’t fathom Brucie not getting a closer look at that.”

His breathing was coming in even faster. He didn’t want to hyperventilate. It was his 3rd day of school, he couldn’t do this here. 

“Is that what happened, Richard? Mean, old, Mr. Wayne just took that big pan in the kitchen and smashed those little fingers? Did it hurt when he broke it? Did it hurt when he pounded your arm so hard it’s still green?”

Dick couldn’t think. He didn’t want to relieve moments long in his past. But Dent was bringing them back into the light. 

He wanted them kept in the dark. 

“How hard did he have to hit to leave those marks, Richard? How much does the man hate you, to do that do a poor, pathetic boy like yourself?”

Distantly, Dick knew the man was whispering too quietly for others to hear. Distantly, Dick knew that everything that spilled from the man’s lips were lies. But his brain didn’t care. 

“How much pain laced up your arm when he twisted your finger backwards, again and again and again? Did you enjoy it, Richard? Just like you enjoy this?”

Vomit was climbing up his throat. He heard the bell ring, and the shuffle of students leaving the classroom. 

“Are you selfish, Richard? To stay with a man like that, when you know you didn’t have to? Is that what you want? To suffer? It’s all down to a flip of a coin for things like this.”

He felt a tear slip down his face. What was happening? 

His hand was let go. It fell against his side.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Richard. Please, have the essay done by the beginning of class. Thank you.”

Dick didn’t hear the end of the sentence, too busy vomiting in the trash can to care about much else. 

—————————-

Jason wasn’t sure what the deal with Raymond or whatever was. He seemed fine one second, and then all defensive and scared the next. What could the kid possibly have gone through to make him switch so often and so fast? 

He’d lived on the streets, and he’d turned out fine. Didn’t even think much about it anymore. 

Why couldn’t Ricky do the same?

Jason glanced over at his clock. 5:58. Almost dinner. Jason got up from his bed, quickly making it neat again before heading downstairs for dinner. 

Alfred hated it when they were late. At least, Jason thought he hated it. He never could tell. 

The table for dinner was set beautifully. The table was a deep mahogany color, and the gold-lined white plates sparkles under a chandelier. The plush chairs perfectly matched the plates, making it hard to find a more exquisite layout anywhere. 

It had overwhelmed Jason when he’d first moved in, but he’d eventually gotten over that. Ryan would too. Probably. He’d better. 

Jason watched Tim walk over to the table and sit down. “Hey Jason. Do you know what’s for dinner?”

Jason shook his head. “If I knew, I’d probably tell you.”

Tim swung his legs back and forth in the seat. He had that look in his face that mean he was contemplating something. “Ya know, you don’t have to be so rude all the time. I didn’t do anything.” 

“Just because you didn’t do it now doesn’t mean you didn’t do anything.”

Tim raised his voice a bit. “But I didn’t do anything!”

“That’s not the point, Tim!”

“Then what is the point, Jason? What is it?”

“You know what the point is! God, can’t you just, I don’t know, stop?”

Tim pushed his chair back, and stood up with an angry look on his face. “I didn’t do anything! All I asked was for you to stop! Why can’t you stop?”

Jason could’ve laughed at that. He didn’t.

“You always get like this! And you don’t even know it!”

Jason opened his mouth to yell at Tim about all the issues the nine year old had, but was cut off by Alfred walking in the room. 

Tim quickly sat back down, hiding his sheepish face behind his hands. Jason looked down at his hands, watching the fists they made.

“Sorry, Alfred.”

“Master Jason, Master Tim. It is alright, but please do try to refrain from screaming in this house. It is wholly improper.”

Up to his left, Jason could see Richmond walking into the room, most likely coming from his bedroom upstairs. Jason was still pissed, and really didn’t want to deal with Rudy. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I late? I’m, uh, I’m really sorry about that.”

Jason just glared at him. 

“I- I it won’t happen again, I swear.”

Alfred walked over to whatever-his-name-was, placing his hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right Master Richard. I have dinner in the kitchen.”

Alfred turned to look at Jason, a small frown to his lips. “Master Jason, would you mind using the oven mitts and bringing in the dinner from the kitchen? I will join you in a moment.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Jason left, still angry, to get the dinner. At least the meal looked good.  
—————————-

Dick hesitantly sat down in one of the elegant chairs. It was still weird sitting in something so expensive. He was kinda afraid he’d break it. 

Dick noticed Tim fiddling with a silver fork. He nodded at him. “Hey, Timbo.”

Tim looked up, a bit surprised. “Oh, hey Dick.”

Dick wanted to say something back, but decided against after Tim looked back down. He had learned a long time ago to not butt in where he wasn’t wanted. And Tim clearly didn’t want to talk. 

In the doorway, Alfred and Jason walked in, each clad in red oven mitts, holding steaming food that made Dick’s mouth water just at the thought of eating it.

Dick hasn’t talked to Jason since he’d gone into his room, but he was mostly okay with that. 

After several minutes of eating some of the best food Dick had ever eaten, and trying to block out the sound of the silence around him, the noise of Mr. Wayne entering the mansion was a welcome relief. 

He took off his jacket, slinging it over the back of chair. He sat down, loosened his tie, and Dick looked on in awe. How could people be so good at mundane things like that?

Mr. Wayne picked up a fork and spoke. “Jason, how was your day at school?”

Jason shrugged his shoulders. “It was fine. It could’ve been better, if certain people weren’t there.” 

Tim looked away. Dick just looked down. 

“That’s good,” Mr. Wayne replied. He turned his head towards Tim. “Tim, how about you. How was your day? Anything exciting?”

Tim picked at his food before replying. “In math, we started covering graphing, so that was fun.”

Mr. Wayne nodded. “Good. I’m glad you’re doing well in math.”

Mr. Wayne looked to Dick, and Dick swore his heart beat faster. Was he going to ask him a question? He didn’t want to be asked about his day. 

Oh, yeah it was cool. His teacher threatened him and he’s too afraid to tell anyone. He cried in class and no one noticed. Wait, how could he almost forget the part where vomited in the trash and then got yelled at for being late to 4th period? And it’s his fault all that shit happened. 

“Richard, how was your day? Is Gotham Prep all right?”

Dick nodded his head slowly. “It’s good. I like it.” Dick could feel saliva line his mouth, the nausea climbing. 

Mr. Wayne hummed in agreement. “How are your classes? Too easy, too hard?”

Dick took a moment before replying. “Um, English is kinda hard, but math is pretty easy, I guess.”

Dick heard a loud laugh and looked over. It was Jason. 

“Bruce, he’s totally lying. Mr. Baum asked him a question and he clammed up so hard. I swear, I thought he was gonna crap himself.”

Dick looked down. He didn’t know what to do. The math wasn’t super hard, he just wasn’t great at talking in front of people. Did he really have to bring that up?

Mr. Wayne leveled his eyes at Jason. “Jason, that’s not appropriate. Apologize.”

Jason stared Dick in the eyes. Dick stared back, but could feel his hands shaking. He fisted his pants in an attempt to stop the shaking.

It didn’t work. 

“Sorry.” Jason’s voice was clearly sarcastic, the higher pitched tone and unsettling sweetness made that obvious, and Dick couldn’t stand it. 

Dick could feel his teeth grinding together. 

“See, this is what I meant, Jason.”

Jason snapped his head in Tim’s direction. “Who asked for your opinion?”

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes. “Not my fault you didn’t ask.”

Jason’s chair screeched against the floor. “Nothings ever your fault, is it? Perfect little Tim, with his perfect little grades and perfect little life? Nothings ever your fault!”

Mr. Wayne’s calm voice rang clear in the room. “Jason. Sit down. Now.”

“No way! He’s literally asking for it!”

“Jason. Leave Tim alone.” Bruce narrowed his eyes again. Dick wasn’t quite sure what that meant. 

Jason stared at Dick before smirking. “Oh, but bothering the dickhead over there is fine?”

“Jason. Sit down, right now.”

Jason crossed his arms, forcing himself to lean back in the chair. 

Dick barely heard what Jason muttered. “Not my fault if he’s stupid.”

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

He’s 9 years old, and aching so much. 

His parents are gone and their cold, cold, cold bodies make him want to cry so much it hurts. 

The warm tears that run down his face every night just make him feel worse, but nothing he does can make them stop. He really wishes they would stop. 

Chris is his roommate. Chris is 11 years old, and so big. He swears he’s almost as tall as his dad was, and about just as wide. 

Chris also hates him. 

He doesn’t speak much English, and he doesn’t know what Chris says sometimes. It just makes Chris mad. 

He tries to tell Chris he’s only been here for 3 weeks and he doesn’t know all the rules, but he doesn’t know the word for rules. 

Chris just yells, and yells, and yells. He thinks it’s all Chris knows how to do, besides punching. 

He tries to tell Chris that he’d stop crying if he could, that if his heart didn’t ache so much it felt like a giant hole in his chest, he would. 

But he doesn’t know how to word it correctly, and Chris only gets angry. Angrier. 

He guesses that Chris doesn’t really care about his problems, mostly because Chris told him. 

When he sleeps, he tries to reach out for them. But they seem to be forever away, and they’re already bloody and bruised and broken, and he can hear cheering in the background that he doesn’t want there, and he knows that their bodies aren’t actually supposed to have bird wings, but he doesn’t know what’s real or not anymore. 

He always wakes before they hit the bloody, black void, and he never used to have nightmares before that night. 

He can feel Chris’s sweaty, pink, meaty hands all over him, screaming at him to shut up and stop crying and asking why he’s so stupid. 

He can’t answer because snot is stuffing up his nose and running down his lips, and he can’t breathe with all the thoughts, and the words, and the snot, and the void in his chest. He 

He wonders why no one is helping him, but then he remembers that no one cares about him anymore because his parents are dead, and he tries to yell back at Chris, but Chris just keeps asking him why he’s so stupid before punching him hard enough that his head hits the cold metal of the bedpost

and he’s out like a light

and the nightmares fill his sleep. Just like they always do, because he’s too stupid to not lose his parents, or maybe to just die with them. 

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Dick could feel his heart pound. His face was heating up, and the anger crawling up his throat was unbearable. He knew words he would regret were forming in his brain, but he couldn’t stop them from pouring out. 

He hated when he got like this. When he felt so much anger over something that didn’t matter that everything inside of him exploded.

He held it in for days, and then let it loose in something that he’d definitely hate himself for. It was happening, and who was he to stop it?

“It’s not my freaking problem that you’re a jealous ass who can’t get over the fact that maybe you aren’t perfect! You think I want to be here? I don’t! I-I don’t want 400 dollars meals and thousand dollar pillows! I just- I just want a home and a family and a teacher that doesn’t want to- want to, fuck me, but hear I am! So just shut the hell up Jason, and stop complaining about whatever kind of freaking life you have!”

Dick was panting by the end of his sentence, his heart racing to the beat of his pounding head. He glanced around, taking in Tim’s shocked face, Mr. Wayne’s angry one, and Mr. Pennyworth’s surprised face in the corridor. 

Most of all, Dick took in Jason’s quietly enraged face. 

Dick took one last glance at the family around him, and bolted up the stairs.


	4. Doves in the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Thank y’all for reading, I appreciate it so much! 1500 views is so amazing! Sorry this took so long, finals and moving takes up a lot of my day :( But I really hope you all enjoy! Also, I was thinking about writing one-shots or two-shots when I can, would y’all read those? Just let me know!

Oh god. Oh god. He’d messed up. He’d messed up _so_ bad. They were definitely going to kick him out now, and he’d never get adopted, and he’d either die before he was 20 or end up some random prostitute in crime alley.

He’d just screwed up his entire life for no reason, and now he was gonna die even more alone, probably with a bullet in his head. 

Mr. Wayne had looked so angry, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tensed, his shoulders up too straight.

God, he didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean to yell at Jason. He didn’t mean to race up the stairs. He didn’t mean anything he said. 

He didn’t want to get kicked out. He didn’t want to leave the family, no matter how distant or rude they were, because at least they weren’t abusive and didn’t hate him. 

He didn’t want to leave his school. He didn’t want to drop out, no matter how much he hated the teacher that touched him, or the kids who whispered about him, because at least he was learning and actually in school. 

He didn’t want to pack up his few meager possessions. He didn’t want to put his items in a bag and go back to where he came from, no matter how much he knew he didn’t want to look the people downstairs in the eye. 

But he couldn’t go back to Juvie. 

He couldn’t do it. Dirty halls with giant teenagers, abusive staff, the cold, dead ground of solitary, were always worse than whatever someone else managed to throw his way. 

Dick, through his panting and the noise of his pounding heart, made a choice. 

There was no way in hell he was going back to Juvie. 

He grabbed the bag off a desk in the bedroom where he’d been sleeping, and shoved clothes from the closet in it. He rushed to the bed, his breath coming in short pants, his mind racing, and grabbed his math book and stuffed elephant. 

Dick wasn’t sure what to do. He knew that he couldn’t get sent back to Juvie, he’d almost rather die than go back there. 

Dick quickly snapped his eyes shut. He put his hand up, attempting to block the light hitting his face. 

The windows. 

The windows had notches that were a shiny black and appeared easy enough to break. Dick ran to the window, attempting to pry open the window before someone came into the bedroom. 

The windows wouldn’t open. Dick turned around, looking for something, anything, to open or break the windows and get him the hell out of there. 

A knock. “Richard? Can you open the door?”

Dick’s head snapped towards the door. Dick cursed, and shoved his hands in his hair. He was going to die. He was actually going to die. 

Mr. Wayne was going to barge in, grab him by his hair, and throw him out that stupid window he couldn’t open. 

It looked like a long way down. He didn’t want to get thrown out a window for stupid words he didn’t mean to say. 

He didn’t mean it. _God,_ he didn’t mean it. And no one would understand. One toss out that window and he’d be done for. 

6 years of struggling and suffering and surviving for _nothing._

He was going to fall 20 feet to the ground and his neck would twist and his head would crack and his body would make the so so so sickening splat it makes when a living breathing wet body hits it and his leg would bend sideways and blood would leak from his eyes his ears would gush his spine would snap his brain would-

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Someone keeps screaming. He’s not sure who. 

He doesn’t know what’s going on. All he knows are flashes of colors, and that his kind, beautiful, parent that are _everything_ to him are gone. 

His mom will never ruffle his hair while he laughs again. 

His dad will never put his hand on his shoulder when he’s proud of him.

His mom will never give him that look that means she knows he’s up to trouble. 

His dad will never hold him by his hand and help him cross the street.

His mom will never kiss his forehead. 

His dad will never give him a fierce hug. 

He’ll never look them in the eyes and tell them he loves them.

Ever again. 

He feels cold, and his body is shaking and his shoulders are freezing. 

He sees glimpses of people moving, but there’s just so many people, and he doesn’t know who to focus on and what’s real or not. 

He feels blood that’s caked the ends of his nails from when he ran to them, screaming. 

He wants to scrub it off. But everything is making him so tired, and he doesn’t have the energy to try, and he doesn’t think he will ever again. 

And he sees a man hug his daughter off in the distance, and there’s no blood caking her fingers and his neck isn’t twisted all the way around. 

And he only cries harder, because he just wants his parents and he should have been with them, should have warned them, shouldn’t have let them fall without knowing their little Robin was with them. 

He sees a big man walk in front of him, towards him, and even though he’s never been so tired in his life and tears are clouding his vision so much he can barely see, he brings his knees to his chest and tries to curl away. 

The sirens are so loud, and he can barely hear the man talk. And what he can hear doesn’t make any sense. 

He knows the word _circus_ , and _leave_ and _me_ , but he doesn’t want to go with the big scary man who’s trying to take him from his family. 

Another man, not as wide but just as tall, tries to talk to the big man, and he hears _stop_ but the tall man just gets pushed aside and ignored. 

The big man grabs his arm with sweaty, beefy hands that make his skin crawl and he just doesn’t have the energy to pull away, or scream, or to somehow fight back.

He doesn’t want to go with this man. He wants to stay with his family, even if they aren’t blood, cause that never mattered, not at the circus. 

But the big man drags him by his arm, not so much it hurts, but just enough to where he has to come along. His bare feet scrape against the ground, and he’s learning that he doesn’t like the feeling of naked feet grinding against sharp rocks. 

He realizes, even through tears clouding his vision, that he’s being taken to an American police car, and he doesn’t know why. 

He knows that the police are for when somebody’s done something bad, and he hasn’t done anything _wrong._

But then, he remembers how he saw the lanky, short man with a dark cropped mustache ask in a smooth voice for money, and he realized how bad he messed up, how horrible he is. 

He didn’t warn them. 

He didn’t tell anyone. 

He sat there, and let his parents fall.

He killed his parents. 

It’s his fault they’re dead. 

The tears well up behind his eyes, and he didn’t even know it was possible to cry any harder than he already was, but the tears are falling so hard he’s sobbing and shaking and he thinks his head is going to explode it hurts so much. 

His face burns and he can’t see anything, nothing but blood and their broken bodies and how he’s the one that ruined everything for them. Everything for his parents, and everything for himself. 

The big man yanks him a little harder, and he knows he would have fallen if the man hadn’t supported him with his other arm. 

He deserves to go with the big man, to the police station, and spend the rest of his life in jail, paying for the murder of his parents. He’s a murderer.

But it doesn’t mean he wants to. 

The big man puts his hand on his head that’s matted with blood, none of it his, and lowers him into the car with the flashing sirens and pounding lights that seem to beat his skull. 

The man starts to drive, and he only sits in the back and cries and cries and cries. He falls forward a bit when the car stops at a light, and he remembers his parents reminding him to buckle himself up, and that he’s a big kid and doesn’t need a reminder. 

He doesn’t have the energy to reach for the seatbelt, and falling onto the floor, into the cracks between his seat and the passenger seat is so much easier. 

Sandwiches between the seats, the tears on his face wet his legs so much it looks like he dipped them in water. 

But he knows he deserves it. He murdered them. His parents are gone, dead because of him. 

Through the windows, he can see a dark city with smoke and smog visible, even at night. The street lights don’t shine nearly bright enough to cover up the darkness of the alleys, and he’s confused why more and more buildings seemed to be boarded up and condemned, and more and more people with little clothing and even less possessions are around. 

When the car pulls to a stop, he tries to wipe his eyes, but nothing works because he just keeps _crying_ and he won’t seem to stop and it’s not fair, why him? What did he ever do? What did he do to deserve this? 

But he remembers how he murdered his parents after all they ever did was care about him, and he knows he does deserve this. 

The big man opens up the door, and he hears him draw out a sigh before grabbing his arm again and pulling him out from the seats.

His skin being rubbed against the seat burns, but not nearly as much as everything else inside of him does. 

The big man pushes him forward to walk, and he still can barely see where he’s going and he trips over his own two feet, something he can’t remember doing in a long time.

And then he’s on the ground, his stomach clenching painfully, dry heaving up nothing, and he’s hating himself for crying so much he made himself _sick_.

The tears that hit the ground splash up back onto his face, and they're so warm it hurts because he feels so cold, cold, cold, that it burns and stings and tears him open from the inside out. 

He listens to the big man talk, picking up every few words, so confused about what’s going to happen next because his now-dead momma ( _that he killed_ ) told him that he doesn’t have any other blood family. 

The big man gently pulls him inside, and he tells him someone will see him soon.

He sits on a bench, glances up at a child a little older than him that seems very confused as to what he’s doing there, and cries himself to sleep on a cold, hard bench so unlike his bed back at the circus, his home. 

It’s not anywhere close to the last time he falls asleep listening to the harsh sound of tears. 

////////////

Dick didn’t realize his back was against the wall until a large hand with calloused fingers shook him back into awareness. 

“Richard, Richard, come on. It’s not here, it’s not happening here. Richard, come on!”

Dick sucked in a sharp breath, vaulting off the wall. He crawled away, trying to stand up and find ground, but he just couldn’t seem to get his feet underneath him. 

The floor seemed to be getting too close, and Dick landed on his hands and knees, quickly twisting around so that his bottom was on the floor and he was looking at Mr. Wayne. 

Mr. Wayne was still standing up, and the towering man ignited fear somewhere deep within Dick. 

Mr. Wayne looked at him with sad eyes hidden behind anger. Dick wasn’t sure who the anger was for. 

Mr. Wayne reached his hand out for him, but quickly pulled it back at Dick’s hard flinch. 

Dick’s voice shook when he spoke.“Don- Don’t touch me.” Dick never like how raspy his voice sounded after a panic attack. 

Dick stared at his hands fisting the carpet, anything to distract himself from the past. 

He could feel the soft carpet under his hands, so different than anywhere else he’d slept. It was an off-white, and the strings slightly curled up at the end. 

“Richard. I need you to look at me.” 

Dick couldn’t make himself look up. One of the carpet pieces had a small ball of purple fluff on the top. 

“Richard. You’re okay. You’re safe. I need you to look at me. 

Mr. Wayne’s voice was kind and stern, but Dick wasn’t sure if he trusted it yet. The piece of fluff was probably from his stuffed elephant. 

“Richard. You’re okay. You will be alright. I need you to look up at me. Please,” Mr. Wayne spoke calmly, his voice raising in pitch on the broken _please._

Dick forced his head up. He couldn’t look into the deep blue of Mr. Wayne’s eyes, and settled for staring at his chest. 

“Richard. I swear--“

Dick’s impossibly quite voice cut him off. “It’s- its, Dick.”

The surprised look on Mr. Wayne’s face was expected. “What?”

“I’m- I’m sorry. I-I, uh, my-my, uh, I- I’m sorry.” He looked back down at the carpet, his head cowering. 

“No, Richard. What were you going to say? You’re safe here. You can say whatever you need to say,” Mr. Wayne said smoothly. 

Dick doubted that applied to full blown rants stuffed with profanity and insults, directed at Mr. Wayne’s actual, legitimate children. 

“It’s, uh, it’s my name.”

Mr. Wayne’s face returned back to a state of calm. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up, in what Dick assumed was meant to be a smile. “Then call me Bruce.”

Bruce? Almost every foster parent he’d ever had wanted to be called Mr. or Mrs. whatever-their-last-name was. Calling him Bruce would take some getting used to. 

Still looking into Mr. Wayne’s chest, Dick chuckled. “Ok, Bruce.”

Mr. Way- Bruce hesitantly placed his hand on Dick’s shoulder, and Dick let him. Dick moved his eyes onto Bruce’s hand. Neither of them said anything when Dick closed his eyes.

After a few minutes of silence, Bruce broke the peaceful silence. 

“Dick, I would like to talk about what happened downstairs.”

Dick pulled his shoulder out of Bruce’s hand and slammed his hand on the ground. He needed to get up and get _out_.

He rushed towards the bed, half expecting Bruce to grab his arm and try to stop him. But he didn’t. Bruce only spoke.

“Richard. You aren’t in trouble. They are just things I need to talk to you about. You aren’t in trouble.”

Dick didn’t believe him, and shook his head, not daring to glance back at the man. 

“Dick. I just need to verify what you said. You aren’t in trouble, and I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was calm while he spoke, and Dick still hadn’t determined if calm voices were voices he could trust. 

“Richard, what did you mean when you said you had a teacher that wanted to, you said, ‘f you’?”

Dick’s heart stopped. Did he actually say that? He wasn’t even sure what he had been saying. He didn’t have a teacher that wanted to have sex with him. Right?

He slowly turned towards Bruce, cringing the whole way. “I- uh. I just meant that they were- uh- out to get me, like- like in a bad way. Not like a, uh, sexual way.” Dick gave a low groan, really hoping Bruce wouldn’t think he was lying

Bruce leveled a glare at him. He nodded. “Okay, Dick. Thank you. I just have one more thing I’d like to talk to you about.”

Oh god. Here it was. Bruce was going to scream at him, probably punch him, and then kick him straight back to Juvie. Oh god. Oh god, here it was. 

“Dick, downstairs, you didn’t seem happy with everything happening here. Do you want to stay here?” Bruce seemed to have genuine worry on his face, to Dicks surprise.

He quickly stepped towards Bruce, before pulling his foot back and messing with the hem of his shirt. “Uh, no. I-I, uh, I like it here. I really do, I swear. It’s great, it’s just that, uh, sometimes, um, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

Bruce sighed before speaking. “Dick, you can tell me.”

Dick nodded. “It’s just that, um, things are so-so different sometimes, and it’s hard, um, to know what to do.” Satisfied with his answer, Dick nodded his head again. 

“Dick, I know that this is a very new environment for you. It’s going to feel different for a while. You will get used to it, it’s just going to take time. If you ever need something explained, don’t hesitate to talk to me. Okay?”

Dick shrugged his shoulders. “Ok,” Dick muttered. “I guess I can do that.”

“Dick, is anything else bothering you?”

Dick wasn’t sure what to say. Tell his foster parent about his terrifying fear of being kicked out, spending the next few years in Juvie, then living on the streets till he died, never experiencing anything close to the wonders of his youth? How do you just spill that to someone you’ve only lived with for two weeks? 

In the end, Dick decided on just shaking his head in reply. 

Mr. Wayne nodded back at him, and walked towards the door, his hand on the doorknob before he turned back to Dick, who was now sitting on the end of the bed.

“Do you want me to bring up the rest of your dinner, Dick? You barely ate any.” 

Dick hesitated before replying. He shook his head, again staring at Bruce’s chest with distant eyes. 

Bruce nodded before leaving. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, Dick. Jason will most likely be up later to apologize.”

Dick wanted to tell Bruce that Jason didn’t need to come up and talk to him, but he left before Dick had a chance to open his mouth. God, he was so stupid. So stupid. 

The pillows bounced when Dick flopped back against them. Why did he have to screw everything up?

—————————-

Jason never ended up apologizing to him that night. Dick was fine with that. He hadn’t really wanted a confrontation, anyway. 

School had been going fine so far. Mr. Dent has basically ignored him during 3rd period, other than one pencil angrily crushed while he looked at him. 

He did wish he had someone to talk to, though.

He sat down at a table in the corner during lunch. No one else really sat there, mostly because the table was always a little sticky. Dick wasn’t really sure why. 

The lunch in front of Dick, homemade from Alfred, smelled delicious. Alfred’s chicken pastas were always some of his favorites. His mouth watered at the smell. 

It was pretty cool not getting free lunch. So was getting food that wasn’t half- frozen and way past the expiration date. 

As Dick devoured his lunch, he failed to notice the loud red-head that sat down across from him. 

“Hey, you’re Dick, right?”

Dick glanced up, surprised. He nodded, and finished swallowing his food. “Uh, yeah. You’re Wally.”

Wally smiled back. “Yeah, sorry about not seeing you at lunch last week. I had to leave early. Ya know how it is, orthodontist appointment.” He flashed the braces that adorned his mouth, yellow and red. 

Dick gave a small smile. He hadn’t seen many people with braces before Gotham Prep. He was pretty sure braces were expensive. 

“So, are you on any teams at school?” Wally seemed eager to chat. 

He shook his head. “No, I- I never really played sports,” Dick replied. 

“Oh. I’m on the track team. We’re pretty good. You could always join track,” Wally said happily. 

“Oh. I mean, I guess I could. I’m not that fast.”

Wally shook his head, laughing. “Dude, it’s fine. The Wall-man here can show ya. Half the members on our team were pretty slow before they started, too.”

Dick stared at Wally in disbelief. “You actually call yourself Wall-man? Like, on purpose?”

Wally fake gasped in reply. “Ouch. That hurt, dude. My feelings,” he pointed to his chest then out into the open, “gone! But, hey. You’re the one who calls yourself Dick, completely unironically. I don’t think you’re the one that can be doing all the calling out, you know.”

Dick stifled a laugh. “Well, what can I say. I’m all about originality.”

“Yeah, sounds like it dude. My track coaches name is Zynopolediamo, so I guess it’s better than that.”

“How’s track? You fast?”

“Fastest on the eastern seaboard, I swear. I did say I was pretty good.”

Dick smiled even wider, deciding to tease Wally a bit. “But not compared to the Western seaboard?”

Wally looked a bit shocked at that, but easily played it off. “Actually, my cousin is probably the fastest over there. Which kinda sucks.”

Dick nodded his head, even though he really didn’t. 

“Oh, Dick, seriously, you can just try track out. We need more members anyway. Maybe come by after school?”

Dick thought about it. Maybe he would. “I can try.”

Wally picked up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. “Ok, see you again dude. I’ve got math tutoring. Honestly, don’t the teachers know lunch is when I do all my talking?”

Dick laughed, not thinking that even in the slightest did Wally do most of his talking during lunch. He didn’t think he’d ever gotten along with someone so well, or so fast. He liked this guy. He hoped they could be friends for however long Dick was staying with the Waynes. 

—————————-

Gotham’s harsh January made itself known as Dick waited for Mr. Pennyworth to pick him up from the school. Usually, Jason would wait with him, but Jason had been preoccupied with wrestling practice. 

The bitter cold stung his face, making the right side of his face a tomato red. He pulled his jacket a little tighter, and tucked his hands farther into the pockets of his jacket. 

It was kind of sad that he was wearing the nicest jacket he’d ever worn, and it wasn’t even something that was bought specifically for him. It had just been too long for Jason.

The crowd of other students paid no mind to Dick as he waddled to sit down on a bench. Out of the corner of his eye, Dick noticed a discrete black car to the side of the school. The only identifying feature was the gold- plated bumper. 

Huh. Weird. 

Dick continued to stare at the car for a few seconds, before it pulled away, driving down the street, it’s exhaust leaving a white cloud of water vapor behind it. 

No one else seemed to have noticed the car, as far as he could tell.

Eventually, the red Cadillac Mr. Pennyworth was fond of driving circled into the loop where Dick was waiting. 

Dick walked to the car, hopping in after opening the door, and he sighed in content as he felt the car’s heated seats. 

“Good day at school, Master Richard?” Dick had never heard Alfred slip and call him anything other than ‘Master Richard’ or ‘Young Master.’ Was that just a rich people thing? He figured it was.

“It was okay, Mr. Pennyworth,” Dick said from the back. He considered mentioning the car, but decided against it. 

He was okay with not sharing. It wasn’t like he enjoyed talking (even though some small part of him whispered _you used to_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can y’all tell I love writing the flashbacks :) Also, just to note, Dick does act very differently around ‘family’ than he does around people he wants to be his friend, much like how people talk different to teachers than to their friends. Feel free to leave kudos and/or comments (idea, criticism, whatever)!
> 
> EXTRA:  
> Since Dick is an unreliable narrator (basically definition of 3rd person limited) I wanted to explain where he ends up in the flashback. He’s not in Juvie yet. They’ve taken him to the police station for the night, just to sort things out, and they boy that’s there isn’t really a ‘boy’ but a teenager there for some charge or another. Obviously, the teen would be confused as to why a 9 year old is in a jail.


	5. wavy interlude

4th chapter is up! Next chapter will be a bit shorter, and I have the plot for the rest of the story developed. Thank you all for reading! **You probably missed the 4th chapter,** so you may want to go back and read that ;)

 

I’m mostly adding this because I want to delete my other interlude, but then the chapter numbers will be wrong so, oh well. Expect one after every chapter!


	6. Pretty Little Birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the newest chapter! Super sorry this took so long. I’m also working on another fic, one that’s much shorter and probably only a two-shot, so look out for that!

———————-  
The couch Dick was currently sitting on was huge, soft, and just the perfect shade of gray to compliment the blue of the room. 

It was basically perfect. 

The only problem was that it was pretty lonely. A huge room, full of perfect furniture and a TV that covered the entire wall, and no one but him was in it. He was being stupid, though. Honestly, he would’ve killed for this years ago, maybe even weeks ago.

He had wandered into the room after Mr. Pennyworth had told him that he and Jason were going out for the night. Dick had been confused as to why, but hadn’t dared to ask. Whatever they did wasn’t any of Dick’s business, he’d decided. 

He’d turned the TV on and gone to Netflix, which he did know was where people watched movies and stuff. 

He’d settled on watching a Disney movie. He’d watched Cinderella and The Jungle Book when he’d been younger, and those had been pretty good.

The movie, Mulan, had been good so far, and he’d like the songs. They were catchy. 

“Hey, Dick. What’re you watching?”

Dick turned his head. Tim was dressed in a loose shirt, the front tucked into basketball shorts, and his hair fell into his eyes. His outfit somehow made him look even younger than nine, and the tired look in his eyes only solidified his youthful appearance.

Dick looked back at the TV before replying. “Mulan. Have you seen it before?”

Tim nodded his head. “Yeah, once or twice. We watched it at school, once.”

Dick pushed back against the couch, and looked to the spot on the couch beside him. He really kinda wanted to ask Tim to sit with him, just because the room was kind of lonely, but he didn’t want to seem desperate for attention. 

Tim hesitantly stepped towards Dick, his breath catching in his throat. “Can I sit with you?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. You can. It’s your house anyways,” Dick said sheepishly, glad Tim had asked instead of just sitting down 

Tim smiled and sat down beside Dick, leaving a good foot of space between them. “Dick, you know you live here too, right? Like, it’s not even my house. It’s Bruce’s! And I guess Alfred’s.”

Dick wasn’t sure how to reply, so he settled for just watching the movie. The dragon-lizard thing was talking about something, anyways. 

Dick flinched and pulled back his arm when Tim started poking him.

“Oof! Sorry Dick, didn’t mean to hurt you. I must be super strong, I guess,” Tim said while flexing his wiry arms. “I just needed to tell you something.”

When Tim didn’t say anything after that, but continued to look at Dick with wide eyes, Dick nodded for him to continue. “What is it, Tim?”

“Mulan is actually a girl, and nobody knows until the end.”

Dick faked shocked, covering his hand with his mouth. “Really? Oh my god, I never would’ve thought! You’re pretty smart for figuring that out.”

Tim crossed his arms, glaring at Dick. “No. The movie told me. I’m better at other stuff,” Tim said, smug. 

Dick stifled a laugh. “Oh, ok. Do you know this part?”

“Duh. This is when they all fall.”

Tim pointed at the TV, effectively proving how right he was, as most of the characters tripped over each other.

Dick nodded, faking surprise, but the small smile on his face was very real. “Woah. You are pretty smart, Timbo.”

Tim’s face spoke only of confusion. “Timbo? Like Dumbo?”

Dick laughed. “No, no. Like Tim!” He paused, taking in Tim’s face. He noted how Tim seemed very concerned for his well being. “But bo. It’s a nickname.” 

He had always liked nicknames. He’d given one to almost any he’d ever been friends with, and certainly to his family back at the circus. He wasn’t sure why he liked nicknames so much. Maybe because he went by a nickname? He didn’t really know why. 

“Well, then why don’t you have a nickname?” Tim questioned.

“I do. Dick’s my nickname.”

Tim looked straight at Dick. “Woah,” he said, his face clearly amazed. Dick hadn’t ever seen someone so amazed by his name. “I just assumed Dick was like, your middle name or something.”

Dick smiled, his head bobbing in approval. “What’s your favorite part, Timbo?”

“I like the part where they all dress up as concubines,” Tim replied, completely oblivious to how strange his sentence sounded. 

Dick chuckled in reply, and settled back to watch the movie. He liked the songs. 

Eventually, Tim settled back to watch the movie too. Dick could feel the warmth of Tim’s chest against his side after several minutes as Tim slowly moved closer, and he forced himself to ignore the growing panic lacing up his spine. He was fine. Tim was only nine years old, and he was fine. He was absolutely, completely, 110 percent, fine. 

The feeling of Tim and his warm hands against his side never really went away, and was a constant reminder of where he was, but he somehow managed to focus his attention on the movie. 

He liked the movie. It was interesting, and the characters were pretty cool. 

Dick could feel Tim’s careful breathing begin to slow, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that Dick _knew_ meant sleep. 

His hair falling into his eyes, Dick ignored the way Tim’s hands pressed into his hips, or how Tim’s head rested against him. 

He ignored how Tim’s breath ruffled his shirt with every exhale.

He ignored Tim’s small fingers, the pinkie laying gently across his stomach.

He somehow ignored how Tim shifted and squeezed his shorts when he moved.

Dick could feel his mind drifting off, exhaustion the criminal behind the crime. He shook his head, forcing himself to stay awake. 

The TV faded in and out of his vision, the movie coming in flashes that he didn’t really understand. Dick could feel sleep approaching, but refused to let it come. 

Dick snapped his eyes open as they drifted shut. There was no way in _hell_ he was falling asleep downstairs, where he was vulnerable and anyone could see him, or touch him, or hurt him.

Staying downstairs was not a good idea. No closed doors that creaked in warning, no gentle reminder of incoming footsteps, no place to hide if things got rough.

He tried pushing himself up from the couch, but Tim’s head just flopped against his lap. He tried shaking Tim’s shoulder to get him to wake up, but the kid was out like a light. 

He scooted himself to the side, grimacing when Tim’s head smacked the couch. He grabbed a pillow, lifting Tim’s head, before placing the pillow under him. 

Satisfied with his work, Dick quietly snuck from the room. He didn’t think anyone else was awake, but he forced himself to be as silent as possible just to be sure. 

As Dick slowly made his way up the stairs, the distant sounds of laughing reached his ears like a bell. _Jason._

He scampered up the stairs faster, his heart pounding and his legs moving without his control. He nearly faltered running up the stairs, but quickly righted himself before racing into the bedroom that they called his. 

He wasn’t ready to talk to Jason, and Alfred would definitely ask him why he was running up the stairs at such a late hour. 

Dick was dreading the inevitable conversation with Jason. He’d avoided it for two days, but he had to go back to school the next day, and sharing a class didn’t make avoiding the other easy. 

God, if he wasn’t so damn stupid, sharing a class wouldn’t even be an issue. He’d be with other fifteen year olds, just like Wally, in a class getting a fresh start. Learning things he actually wanted to learn, and he wouldn’t be stuck with Mr. Dent as a teacher. 

Luck never seemed to be on his side. 

But maybe, maybe things could change. Didn’t mean he wanted to talk to Jason, though. 

————-——

Dick sighed as he waited for the morning bell to ring. He was tired, from staying up late working on homework, and his mom had always said that he was crabby when he was tired. 

He’d left his watch at home, so he had no way of checking the time without asking someone. Talk to strangers? No thanks.

Most of Gotham Prep was outdoors, with hallways being entirely nonexistent. Classes were situated in buildings that had a center area for teachers to meet, and the buildings were only connected by grass and wide, shiny black walkways with absolutely no protection from Gotham’s harsh winters. 

With little protection from the wind, Dick was pretty sure his butt was _actually_ going to fall off. 

Dick decided that even though waiting for the bell to ring was boring, the cold was probably the worst part. Even then, he’d been through worse. 

When he was younger, most of his foster families hadn’t been able to afford jackets for him, or just didn’t want to give him one. He’d spent too many nights shivering out in the cold before someone realized he was there, and ushered him inside.

The juvenile detention center hadn’t been much better in that regard. The jumpsuits they were given did little against the cold, and snow somehow always seemed to slip in.

The depressing hours of ‘freetime’ they were given outside twice a week were usually spent by either running away from older kids, or attempting to find warmth in the freezing cold. Occasionally, he attempted to do both. 

It didn’t usually work. 

Dick was slowly lifted out of his thoughts by the distant sound of Jason talking on the phone several yards away, his back against a building, his body tense, oblivious to Dick’s presence. 

“—not my fault, Bruce! I didn’t start it, you know that!”

Dick couldn’t hear Bruce’s reply, but he didn’t think it was what Jason wanted to hear by the angered expression on his face. 

“That ain’t fair. Just cause you’ve got some fancy new kid with issues walking around, that doesn’t mean I have to deal with it!”

Dick scooted inwards on himself, hoping Jason wouldn’t notice his presence. 

“Bruce, I’m trying. I am! You can’t just expect it to be perfect! That’s not how it works. You know that.”

Dick strained his ears for Bruce’s reply, but still couldn’t hear anything.

“I was with Alfred! How would I know about that?”

“Why do you think I would get him that? I mean, I can try but that don’t mean it’s gonna happen.”

“So what? He’s not me.”

“Well, tell Tim he can—“

Dick wasn’t sure if he was thankful or not when the shrill noise of the bell cut Jason off. He watched him angrily hang up, tucking the expensive device into his pocket with little care. 

He’d never had a phone before. He wasn’t sure what one would do with one, besides maybe call someone or check the time.

He’s seen people take photos and look at photos, and that had always seemed pretty interesting to him. 

Dick sighed as he stood up to walk to home room. Maybe he could get a phone? Bruce definitely had enough money, so it couldn’t be much of an issue. 

The thought of owning something so expensive made his stomach shake in that way he _hates_ , although he wasn’t sure if that was excitement, fear, or nervousness he seemed to be feeling.

\-------------------------------

Shoot. 

He’d left his social studies textbook in the kitchen of the manor. 

It was right there for him to grab when he left for school, and he’d just forgotten it there. 

After getting dropped off for school, and trying to ignore the glares Jason kept sending his way, he’d been so ready to get into the car that he’d left the only thing he’d need for History.

Dick awkwardly walked into class, knowing his face was red and that his hands were messing with the hem of his dress shirt. He sighed, internally kicking himself for doing something so stupid and pigheaded. 

He slowly walked up to the teachers desk, swallowing before talking. “Um… I kinda forgot my – my, textbook.”

The teacher looked at him apologetically. “That’s ok,” nodding towards the phone on the wall. “Do you want to call your parents?” 

Dick hummed in reply, ignoring the _parents_ part of the sentence before remembering one important aspect of using a phone. “I—uh, I don’t really know the number.”

The teacher sighed before smiling at him. “Is it in the contacts of your phone? We can look there.” 

Dick looked to his feet. “I don’t, um, have a phone.” He grimaced when his voice cracked. 

The teacher looked a bit shocked, but Dick had to give the teacher credit for covering it up well. “Here, let me give you a pass. Then you can head up to the front office, they’ll let you call from there. Try not to forget your book again, cool?”

Dick nodded, gingerly grabbing the laminated office pass off the desk, not listening to what the teacher instructed the rest of the class to do. 

He walked towards the office, ignoring how the wind made his fingers red. He did kind of want a phone, but he also _really_ didn’t want to ask. 

He’d never been great at asking for things, especially for stuff that wasn’t an absolute necessity. That was probably why he was walking out in the cold with freezing fingers. 

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  
 _  
He’s 13 years old. He’s been with the family for a month. He knows he’s older than the age almost anybody gets adopted at. He knows it’s probably his last chance to find a family, but he also knows that he can’t spend the next five years of his life with these people._

_The man and woman have three children. Chris, Allison, and Maliyah. The kids are all younger than him, Hispanic, and probably some of the meanest people he’s ever met._

_He’s pretty sure he hates them._

_The kids are rude, selfish, and probably hate him just as much as he hates them, if not more._

_It’s a hot day outside, the hottest in a long time. The sun is beating down restlessly on him, and he’s sweating so much he feels like he’s been dunked in water. He can see the waves of water vapor above the cars on the street, distorting the air above them._

_He wishes his hair was shorter, because then it wouldn’t be all sticky and stuck to the back of his neck like honey._

_His feet squelch in his shoes, the sweat completely soaking his socks._

_He’s wearing shorts that used to go to his knees, and a t-shirt that goes to just below his waist, and he still feels like he’d be cooler wearing a parka in the desert._

_He can faintly hear the TV playing inside, and the hum of the air conditioner behind a fence._

_He knows the kids are sitting inside, lounging around, munching on fruit and drinking smoothies, while he’s outside, forced to mow the lawn and clean up the front yard._

_He’s done it before. He knows how. It’s just, he’s never done it when he feels like he’s inside an oven._

_They’re one of the better off family he’s ever stayed with. He doesn’t get why they make him do all the physical labor, when Chris is just a year younger than him and they can definitely afford to pay someone to cut their grass._

_The father is a big man, he’s definitely muscular enough to mow the lawn. He knows just how strong the father is._

_He’s got the bruises to prove it._

_It wouldn’t be that bad, doing all the yard work, if he hadn’t been working for hours, and he didn’t think he was about to melt, and his throat wasn’t so raw he could barely rasp words out._

_All he has left to do is mow the side of the lawn separated by a garden with a small brick wall._

_He just doesn’t have the energy to somehow manhandle the machine over to the other side._

_He doesn’t know what to do. His hands are so slick with sweat he can barely grasp the handle of the lawnmower._

_He decides he just needs some water. A drink, then he’ll finish._

_He turns off the lawnmower, and languidly walks to the front door of the house, distantly aware of how hard his head is pounding._

_He knocks on the door, his arms heavy. Once, twice, three hits in a row._

_The kids glance at the door, disgust evident on their faces. He knows they can see him from the living room. The window looks right at him._

_He watches them turn their heads back to the TV. Reality TV is apparently worth more than him (and maybe his health)._

_He wants to knock again, maybe ring the doorbell. But the kids ignored him before, why would they answer the door now?_

_He taps his foot impatiently against the ground, and even this little act tires him out so much he thinks he’s gonna pass out._

_He sighs, his hands gripping his hair, and forces his feet to move back towards the lawnmower he knows he’ll have to lift up so he doesn’t scrape the brick._

_Last time, he didn’t lift it. He’s not making that mistake again._

_He grabs the lawnmower, forcing it over the bricks. His arms are shaking, and his lip is wobbling, and his head keeps screaming at him to stop._

_He’s still lifting, and his throat is so dry it aches, and his heart is pounding through his chest. His eyes are burning and his teeth are clenching together so hard he thinks they’ll crack._  
.   
His vision is blurring, and he feels so much lighter he swears he’s flying. The sun is in his eyes, the sweltering and scorching sun, and he pretends he doesn’t know why his eyes roll up and fade back in his head as he flops to the ground, the smack of the lawnmower against the ground the only other sign of his fall. 

_He wakes up hours later, sad and confused, but not surprised when it’s dark outside and he’s alone, the lawn mower unmoved and the feeling of crusted blood on the back of his head._

_He struggles to his feet, scrambling to get to the front door, because he swears all he wants is to be inside, cool and dry and clean and hydrated and happy and feeling like he matters._

_When he gets there, he can’t make himself knock, knowing they’re all asleep, and that they didn’t think about him._

_So he walks back to the lawnmower, hoisting it up, knowing that the man leaves for work at 7:45, and it’ll be so much worse if he falls asleep in the dry grass, the lawn uncut.  
_   
/////////////////

 

\-------------------------------

Dick doesn’t get why some kids get to enjoy the comforts of life someplace interesting like Italy, or South Korea, or Germany, whiles he’s stuck in dark, depressing, and gloomy old Gotham. 

And oh yeah, he’s currently sitting in a desk, by himself, after school ended. Because he’s just got fantastic luck. 

Mr. Dent had specifically asked him to stay after school so they could talk about his most recent quiz grade. Dick knew he’d messed up, and he really didn’t want to talk to Mr. Dent, with his dark, leering eyes and his sweaty, calloused hands. 

Plus, Wally had asked him if he wanted to hang out at the McDonalds down the street, and he was already having a crappy day and he just wanted some chicken nuggets. 

Dick tried to calm himself down and force himself to stop _shaking his damn foot_ but he couldn’t seem to make himself sit still. He squeezed his thigh, hoping his foot would just stop, along with his nerves. It didn’t seem to be working.

Dick looked up when Mr. Dent reentered the room, the anger evident on his face. Dent walked towards him, gripped his own hand, before shaking his head and sighing. 

“Richard. We need to talk.”

Dick could easily see the clenching of the man’s jaw. His hands were squeezed into fists, and his eyes were boring holes into Dick’s head. Dick positioned his legs outside of his chair, ready to bolt if Dent did something. 

When he had been younger, he hadn’t really been prepared for someone to hurt him. People had yelled at him, or given him weird looks, but he’d never actually been _hit._

But after his parents had died, things had changed. He realized people didn’t really care about him, only about the money he came with. And if that meant he needed a couple of bruises to learn his lesson, so be it. 

Sometimes, people had tried to go beyond a punch or a beating. He’d decided a long time ago he’d much rather a black eye than a stolen kiss. 

“Richard. I’ve got your quiz at my test.” Dent walked towards his desk, but Dick didn’t move. 

He glanced back at Dick. “Get over here,” he growled, his voice deepening in tone.

Dick stood on shaky legs, his backpack in his hands. He was ready to swing the bag, if that’s what it took. 

“Now, Richard, can you tell me about why you think you did so poorly on this quiz?”

Dick swallowed before replying, absentmindedly tapping his foot on the ground. 

“I think it might because, I uh, just didn’t have time to study? Uh – yeah.” He glanced up at the ceiling, hoping to avoid Dent’s face. 

Dent walked behind his desk, his eyes trained on Dick. Dick could already feel the saliva lining his own mouth. 

Dick could see the man reach down for something, but Dent never took his eyes off of Dick. He only bent at the knees, and placed his hand on the floor to steady himself. Dick backed up a step, ignoring the feeling of his sweaty hands. 

He looked towards the door. “Uh, Mr. Dent, I’m gonna go —“

To Dick’s surprise, another teacher opened the door on the opposite side of the room. Dent cursed before standing up and facing the other teacher. Dick sighed in relief. 

“The hell do you need?” Dent growled. 

Dick slowly slipped out of the room, his pulsing heart beating up in his throat. He closed the door, quickly shuffling away. 

He wiped away the burning feeling behind his eyes, before walking to the parking lot to meet Mr. Pennyworth. 

Oh well. Not like he’d hadn’t been through worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I kinda don’t really like this chapter, but I need the things in it, so ????? I’ll see how the next chapter goes. Feel free to leave comments and kudos!!!


	7. Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next chapter! No reason this took so long, I’m just lazy. I really like the end of this chapter for some reason. Also, I heard this works namesake on the radio for the first time, so that was pretty cool. Feel free to comment and/or leave kudos!!!

Dick shoved his Manila folders into his backpack as he sat on the bench. He only had a couple of hours left of school, and frankly, he was ready to just get to the manor and bolt to the bedroom. 

“Hey, Dick, you wanna go get ice cream after school?”

Dick zipped up his backpack as he turned around to face Wally. 

“Do you? I know it’s cold outside, but it’s warm in the building. And they’ve got a bunch of flavors. Like the chocolate is pretty good, but you heard it here first that the triple chocolate is even better.”

Dick smiled a bit. “Don’t you have track practice? Or am I just imagining what you do every day from 3:00 to 6:00?”

Wally put his hand on Dick’s shoulder before speaking. “Dude, I would skip _anything_ to hang out with you. Except maybe championships. But other than that, I’ve got you.”

Dick laughed. He honestly didn’t know what he did to get such an amazing friend. He’d invited Wally over during the weekend, the first time he’d ever had someone come over, and he had to admit that it was pretty fun.

They’d played video games that Jason and Tim owned for hours, and Mr. Pennyworth had brought up cookies for him and Wally. Granted, Wally ate almost all of the cookies, lightning-fast, but the ones Dick did have were pretty good. 

Who was he kidding. They were _really_ good.

“Thanks Wal. What’s it cost?”

“Uh, like five bucks for a triple scoop,” Wally said. Seeing Dick’s confused face, Wally continued. “I mean, that’s fine for me, probably. I eat a lot! It’s like, three bucks for a single scoop.”

Dick nodded his head, and grabbed the hem of his shirt before he realized what he was doing and forced himself to stop. “Wally, I really want to go. I do. It’s just, I-I don’t have any, uh, cash.”

Wally groaned. “Dick! You literally live with billionaires! How do you not have three dollars?”

“I don’t know! I mean, I uh, don’t usually ask Bruce for money.”

“Dick. I need you to repeat after me,” Wally exclaimed while holding both of Dick’s shoulders.

Dick nodded his head.

“I, Richard Grayson, will be okay asking.”

Dick repeated after him. “I, Richard Grayson, will be okay asking.”

“My very, super rich foster dad for five dollars so I can eat very, _yummy_ ice cream.”

“Wally! He’s not even that rich!”

Wally shook his head, amusement hidden in his fake disappointment. “Dick. I have been to your house. He is. Now! Repeat after me.”

“Fine. I will ask my very rich foster dad for five dollars so I can eat ice cream with you.”

“There ya go, dude,” Wally said. “I mean, I don’t have any extra cash. I only brought five dollars and I’m not sure I’ll have any left over, to be honest. And I already told coach that I had a doctor appointment so I could miss track! Look what’ve you done dude. Now I’m a liar. Shameful, honestly.”

Dick looked down at his feet before sighing. “Sorry, honestly. Maybe we can try again next week?”

“Maybe. I’m gonna get some today anyway, so maybe you can come along?”

Dick nodded. “Yeah. I’ll see you after school, cool?”

“Yep! See ya then, dude.”

———————————————

Jason felt his eyes bore holes into Dick’s skull. He’d been watching a series of Dick’s entire conversations with Wally, and God, they were weird. They talked about the most random shit in the most random places. Jason was pretty sure his head was going to explode if he listened to another second of their weird-ass conversations. But he wanted to know more about Dick, and there was no way in hell he was going to straight up ask Dick a question about himself. 

That would be weird. 

Jason did feel a little bad for that asshole, though. Not wanting to ask for money? Yeah, he knew the feeling. The ice cream was pretty good. Roy had taken him there once, before everything had gone to shit with him, and Roy had sworn their Rocky Road was to die for. He’d been right about that, at least. 

He used to be really good friends with Roy. Until his expulsion for drug use, and Jason hadn’t seen him since then. New school system and all. He wanted to complain to Bruce about it, but he always got pushed aside because of the freaking new kid. Tim was only okay to complain to, because Alfred would chastise him if cursed in front of the kid. What a baby. 

Jason watched Dick stroll away, chatting with Wally before they parted ways. Jason rolled his eyes. A month here and he’s already got friends? Jason had been with Bruce for weeks before he even started talking to someone with only limited amounts of sarcasm and bluntness, and even then, he hadn’t made any friends. 

Why did Dick always seem to have it so easy? He shows up, literally out of freaking nowhere, and suddenly gets all the damn attention. Not that Jason thinks he himself needs attention, anyways, but it would be nice to have some.

Jason felt his hands roam into his back pockets. He had a five there. A fifty and a twenty in his backpack, but Alfred had said not to use those unless it was an emergency.

Sighing, Jason pulled the five out of his pocket before heading over to crappy Dickhead’s crappy locker. He looked around, scanning the open space to make sure no one in the entire hellhole that was Gotham Prep saw him. 

Carefully, Jason pulled the five out of his pocket and stuck it in the locker through the thin bars in the upper half. 

“You better like that damn ice cream, Dickie,” he muttered to himself as the money fell onto a shelf in Dick’s locker.

Jason looked up just as the bell rang, and headed off to meet Artemis for P.E.

———————————————

The classrooms at Gotham Prep were pretty nice. Smart boards, bright colors, and rows upon rows of desks lined the rooms. 

Dick felt guilty for not being able to wait to leave. He liked school, he did, it was just kind of hard to sit still for an entire hour doing _nothing._

But it was fine. He was fine. All good, honestly. 

Dent hadn’t bothered him at all the last couple of days! Dent hadn’t even looked at him the day after the ‘event’ and the class had had a substitute teacher for the couple of days since then.

Dick walked towards his locker, situated in the main hall, and went to put away the books he wouldn’t need for the latter half of his day. 

He pried open his locker, the lock opening with a satisfying _click_.

Dick reached upwards to place the books on the upper shelf of his locker, his eyes flicking downwards when a green flash floated towards the ground. 

Dick frowned, reaching down to grab the green. He grinned as he picked it up, a five dollar bill held proudly in his hands. He hadn’t put money in his locker, so maybe someone had slipped it in through the slits in the top?

Wally might’ve, but he said he didn’t have extra cash, and it wouldn’t be something he would lie about. Maybe Jason? But Jason had been pretty pissed at him since the ‘event’ and it just _didn’t make sense_ for him to do something like that.

Wherever the money came from, Dick was pretty pleased to have it. Now he could enjoy ice cream with Wally, without the awkward feeling of borrowing money from someone, knowing you’ll never pay them back. 

He tucked the money in his pocket, and continued on his way. He did have a lunch to get to, after all. 

 

———————————————

“Hey, Dick!”

Dick turned around, smiling as he saw Wally walking towards him. Wally didn’t seem to notice the confused eyes of the strangers around them as Wally yelled out his name. Just one part of the gig of having a pretty phallic name. 

“Walls! I got cash!” Dick yelled out, a little louder than he felt he needed to. For once in his life, he felt good about being loud and unreserved. It was a nice feeling, being extroverted at times. 

Wally sped up his walking, an elated look on his face. “Really! Yes! Where’d you get it from?”

Dick shrugged. “It was in my locker. No idea how it got there.”

“Wow. I wish I had a magic locker that randomly gave me money,” Wally joked in reply, laughing as he spoke. 

“Well, it does have its perks,” Dick said as he pulled the cash out of his pocket, waving it in front of Wally’s face. 

“That’s pretty cool, dude,” Wally said. “Oh, forgot to tell you, sorry about that, but the ice cream place is like a ten minute walk, which will take basically _forever_ , so my uncle’s gonna give us a ride if that’s cool with you.”

Dick nodded his head, before suddenly remembering one pretty important detail. “Oh shit, Wally. I need your phone.”

“Yeah, totally but why?”

“I–uh–I. I forgot to call the- Mr. Pennyworth and tell him not to pick me up yet.” Dick glanced down at his feet. He was such an idiot. How could he forget the one thing that happened every day after school?

Wally grabbed his phone from his front pockets, shoving it into Dick’s hands. “Here, call ‘im. Just hurry, cause my uncle will be here soon.” 

Dick thanked Wally before hastily dialing the butler’s number and explaining the situation to him. Dick was thankful that Mr. Pennyworth was so understanding. The man was a blessing to have around. 

“Ok, all good now.”

“Good, dude. You know my uncle can take you home though, right?”

Dick shrugged. “Eh, he likes picking me up.”

“Weird.”

“I know, right?”

———————————————

 

Wayne Manor was stuffed with incredibly expensive items, and anyone who entered the residence knew it. 

A shining chandelier that sparkled at all times of the day, expansive and beautiful, was right in the foyer when one entered the manor. The dining hall table could easily seat 40, and the dark wood it appeared to be made of was elegantly carved into polished twisted designs. 

The massive paintings in most rooms were signed with a quick signature that meant the art could easily go for millions. The dishes that sat unused in cabinets were antique china, the gold that laced them adding just the right amount of splendor.

It had been a big change from the boarded up windows, wearied bed frames, and cracked walls that Dick was used to. 

So when Dick had stumbled backwards after Tim had jokingly _pulled an actual rug out from under him_ , the shattering noise that came from behind him should not have come as a surprise. 

Dick turned around, his eyes wide, as a vase that Tim had explained had been Bruce’s great grandmothers, was broken into hundreds of pieces on the wood floor. 

Dick looked frantically at Tim, the beat of his heart loud over his ears. Tim’s mouth was covered by his hands, his eyes switching between Dick’s face and the broken vase. 

Dick turned back to the vase, shaking as he crouched down to somehow _please_ somehow put the vase back together. His eyes were clouding up with the familiar presence of burning hot tears. 

He gingerly picked up a large piece, his hands still shaking even as he willed them not to, as he tried to fit it with another large piece with jagged edges. 

Dick could hear thudding footsteps heading down the hallway behind him and Tim. 

Oh God. Bruce. Bruce was never going to forgive him for this. Bruce’s parents were dead, just like his, and he would never forgive Dick for destroying a connection to them and their past. 

Bruce was going to kick him out so fast. A whole month outside of juvie, and he was already going to get sent back. He could already imagine the furrowing of Bruce’s brow as he would drag Dick into his fancy car, then throw him back into the one place Dick loathed with all of his heart. 

Everything was over. No more delicious meals, no more roofs with no leaks over his head, no more clothes that smelled like vanilla and wealth and whatever else it was Mr. Pennyworth mixed into the laundry detergent. 

Now, he’d only have poverty and hunger and bruises and a hole inside of him that even the death of the cruel members of the mob that helped kill his parents can’t even fill. 

No matter where he was, he always seemed to end up alone.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  
_  
He’s only 11. And for the first time in a long time, he’s okay with everything. His clothes fit, his shoes don’t squish his toes, and the pantry actually has food in it._

_Miss Caroline is undoubtedly the best foster parent he has ever had. She’s kind, caring, and most of all, loving._

_He loves the way her hair smells when she hugs him, the way her dark brown hair tumbles over her shoulders onto his. He loves the way she walks him to school, her soft, manicured hand gently leading him forward. He loves how homy her baked foods are, the smell wafting through the apartment right before dinner._

_He can’t stop smiling when he’s with her. He’s happy, and he knows that this is somewhere he could spend the rest of his life. Sure, the apartment isn’t in the best part of town, nothing east of crime alley is, but Caroline makes it work._

_He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do when he wakes up to Caroline frantically shaking him. “Caroline, what is it?” He asks groggily, his voice hoarse._

_She whispers to him that someone is trying to come in through the fire escape, and she needs him to be quiet._

_He looks up at her with big, blue eyes that are tearing up, because he doesn’t want to leave her. “Why? What about the police?”_

_“Dickie, they won’t be here in time. I need you to go in the closet, okay? Like they make you practice at school, okay Dickie?”_

_He stares at her, his mouth agape, because there’s no way this is happening, no way this could possibly ever happen to them, everything is finally okay and good and happy, before he shakes his head and grabs her hand while he pushes the covers of his bed off of his lap. “Caroline, just where–where are you gonna go?”_

_She reaches out for him, and hugs him tight, and he buries his head in her shoulder before she pushes him off and towards the closet in her room. He can hear the window opening and shaking now, and he knows someone’s in their apartment._

_“I love you, Dickie,” she whispers to him as the door to the closet opens._

_“Caroline, what are you gonna do?”_

_“Don’t leave the closet till the police get here, okay?”_

_He pushes himself against her, the shuffling of the intruder in their living room ringing loud in his ears. “Go in first,” he insists, a frown on his face that he tries so hard to morph into a smile so that she can know it’s okay, too._

_She shakes her head, and he wishes so bad he didn’t see the tear that slipped down her cheek. “No room. No time. I love you, Dickie. Don’t forget that.”_

_“I love you,” he whispers in reply, and he wants to hug her till the end of time, but he never gets the chance as she pushes him into the closet and quietly closes the door._

_There are slits in the bottom of the closet door, and he can see Caroline slip out of the room on the balls of her foot. He can hear the muffled sounds of conversation, but he can only make out “bathroom - nobody - here - alone,” and the first sob doesn’t come till he physically feels his heart break._

_He doesn’t know what the intruder wants, or why they’re in their apartment. He covers his eyes with his hands, when he hears Caroline screech, and the wet, burning feeling behind his eyes makes him shake off his hands, the droplets too loud when they hit the floor._

_Footsteps are getting closer to his bedroom, and he pulls himself in closer, and he silently begs that Caroline is okay. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her._

_He sees Caroline’s bare feet enter the room. He muffles his cries when he realizes she’s not walking, she’s being dragged into the room, her feet barely moving, her toes twitching against the cold floor._

_He pushes his head into the crook of his arm to cover his muffled sobs, because all he can do now is cry, cry, cry because he can’t leave the closet, Caroline said he couldn’t, and he’d do anything for her, and she’s got to be dead and he can’t deal with anymore pain in his life._

_Except he realizes she’s not dead when she lets out a high pitched whine a moment later, or maybe it’s a year later, he can’t tell, it’s all happening too fast, and he struggles to resist the wild, animalistic urge to bolt out of the closet and save her._

_There’s more noise, and he is so disgusted by how happy he is that he can’t see what’s going on that it makes him want to vomit and leave and not be here anymore, and his head is pounding and ringing and screaming at him to help, please god please help her, but he knows he can’t._

_Because she told him not to._

_And he’d do anything for her._

_And it’s later when he sees the intruder, a man, drop her writhing twisting somehow breathing, still loving, body on the floor, crouch over her defenseless form, her hands held up uselessly in defense, and his heart drops to bottom of his feet, no, the bottom of the earth, when he —_

_he —_

_takes the gleaming glittering grimy knife wrapped in his stained ugly scarred hand and he —_

_he—_

_stabs it right through her beautiful kind loving, once living, chest_

_and now he’s sobbing so so so much it hurts and stings and burns but he muffles it and covers it because he knows she doesn’t want to die in vain._

_The man yanks it out, and the blood fills her pretty shirt, a beautiful gift from her mother when she was younger, and it pours out of her and why does everyone he loves have to die?_

_The man pulls off her bracelet, a Christmas present from her closest friend, and shoves it into his pocket, and rushes out of the room._

_He doesn’t open the closet door, just stares at her bleeding notbreathing whyisntshebreathing body until the police open the closet door and drag him out and cover his shoulders with a blanket and he tries to cry into the men’s arms but they just push him off and why is it always so cold cold cold when he’s alone?_

_He’s always alone. And everyone he’s ever loved,_

_dies.  
_

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Dick gripped his head, squeezing to ward off the tainted memories of his past. 

Going back wasn’t something he could do. Last time, he’d ran to the bedroom. Then, Bruce had gotten in anyway. He might’ve gotten out of getting sent back last time, but there was no way he wasn’t getting sent back this time.

Dick scrambled up onto his feet, his head screeching with thoughts of how fast everything had gone downhill, and he forced his legs to move up towards the front door. 

He ran towards the door, not daring a glance back at Tim. Tim would be disappointed in him, and he was sorry about that, but he had to get out before things could get worse. 

Dick was stopped by an imposing figure. He quickly grasped for the nose he had just ran into the chest of a large man. He could feel warm, wet liquid oozing under his fingertips, the previously broken finger wrapped awkwardly around his nose. 

Dick looked up, Bruce’s face a shadow behind the light shining into the foyer from a large window. He was saying words, but Dick couldn’t make them out. His lips were moving, but Dick couldn’t read them. 

He tried pulling past Bruce, but the man just gently placed his fingers on his shoulder as Dick attempted to move past. Dick yanked his shoulder out of the light grip, his foot stepping backwards for balance. 

Dick tried to maintain his center of gravity, but Bruce kept walking forward, saying words that Dick couldn’t hear over his guilt and the blood rushing to his ears and the liquid that was flooding in streams out of his nose. 

When Bruce stepped forward again, Dick fell straight back on his ass, the numbing pain ignored by his mind and the adrenaline. He attempted to twist around, but he couldn’t get his hands and feet underneath him in time before he looked up. Bruce was still standing, just as imposing as the day they had met, and Dick was _terrified._

He was so big and Dick swore he could see muscles bulging through his shirt and the thought took his breath away because he couldn’t deal with anymore pain in his life and Bruce was just going to make everything worse. 

Dick didn’t realize he was crying until Bruce was level with him, and his jeans had tear drop stains at the thighs. Dick turned his head away when Bruce got close, deciding it was too risky to look at him. 

“–it’s ok, Dick. It’s ok. I’m not angry.”

Bruce’s words, now that he could hear them, were surprisingly kind and soothing. Dick looked up, his vision slightly blurred, and Bruce somehow didn’t look as scary as he did before. He looked almost fatherly. Dick hadn’t had someone paternal in his life for a long time. 

“It’s ok. It’s just a vase.”

Dick wanted to believe Bruce, with all of his kind words and easy tone, but he’s had too much experience with people with kind words not doing kind things to him.

Dick’s was a bit surprised when he heard light sniffling behind him. “Dick, please don’t leave.” Dick turned his head and body around, and there was Tim. Rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, his eyes red and puffy, and for once in his life Dick was shocked. Absolutely, completely shocked. Because wow, _someone actually cared about him._

And if that wasn’t the most depressing thing Dick has ever thought in his life, then he’s not sure what would be. 

Tim crouched down and reached out for Dick’s arm, and Dick let him, and he also let him just hold his arm, mostly because he knows Tim needs it, but maybe just because he likes the warmth. 

Bruce stood back up to his full height, and opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. 

Dick sighed. “Bruce, I’m really–I’m really sorry about the vase,” he stuttered out.

Bruce looked Dick in the eye, and Dick forced himself not to look away. “It’s Okay, Dick,” Bruce said. Bruce leaned forward a little bit, pulled a piece of something white out of his pocket before he handed it to Dick. “And between you and me,” his voice dropped several decibels before he spoke again, “I never really liked that vase much anyway.”

Dick felt his eyes follow Bruce as the man walked away, relief flooding his veins with the thought that he was safe for the moment at Wayne Manor. 

Dick awkwardly put the tissue against his nose as Tim lightly grasped his arm, and Dick swore he saw movement at the top of the grand staircase. 

He stared as the top of the stairs before he saw it again. A flash of red in a sea of gold and off-white. Jason stopped moving right in front of the wall, and his eyes met Dick’s with a ferocity that Dick hadn’t seen in a long time. 

When Jason dropped his head and sighed, before walking down the stairs, Dick didn’t expect his eyes to emit a sense of peace when he met them again. 

“Jason? Are you, uh, are you okay?”

Jason scoffed. “Am I okay? You’re the idiot with a bloody nose and a nine year old on your arm.”

Dick smiled down at Tim before he looked back up at Jason. “Did–did you put the money in my, uh, my locker?”

Jason nodded his head. “Duh.”

Dick looked at Jason in confusion. “I–I thought you were… mad, at me.”

“Yeah, well,” Jason said as he sat down, back against Dick, his head resting on Dick’s warm shoulder, “Guess I’m tired of being angry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, next chapter comes soon!!! Feel free to comment or leave kudos <3


End file.
